Into the Mouth of the Wolf
by resauthor
Summary: A dead body in the restroom of the PB bus depot interrupts a quiet weekend off. putting Chris and Rita on a collision course with the DEA. Crime/Romance/Angst and a bit of mature content, too. It's what I do.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Notes**: This Classic Moments tale revolves around a crime, but rest assured, like all CM stories, Chris and Rita's relationship is front and center. After all, that's why we're here. In the CM timeline, this story takes place a few weeks after Resolutions of the Heart. As for canon, it's still missing. Remember what happened to Little Red Riding Hood when she tangled with a wolf? The same thing may have happened to canon. My apologies to the residents of Palm Beach. I'm sure they would be appalled to know I placed a bus station within the city limits.

**ADULT CONTENT WARNING: ** There are a few scenes in this story with mature themes and content. This one is a bit more adult than the others, but it's only a few scenes. They are easy enough to skip and won't affect your ability to follow the plot. Which still doesn't make them gratuitous in my mind. Or maybe it does? Oops. Either way, if this offends you, do not proceed. Everyone else, _Andiamo!_

**INTO THE MOUTH OF THE WOLF**

**_in bocca al lupo_**

Chapter One

_by: resauthor_

_There he was, il ladro, the thief who was trying to extract millions from Signore Adesso. Carlo watched the expensively dressed man open the door and pause to look around before walking into the men's restroom of the Palm Beach bus station. Hidden in one of the stalls, Carlo could look through the narrow slit of space below the metal hinges and get a clear view of the doorway. Lady luck was on his side as the man walked up to the urinal directly across from him. An elderly gentleman finished washing his hands at the sink and left the room. They were alone now, just the two of them. The stall door swung open soundlessly and with three quick steps, he was holding a gun to the back of the man's head. The intended victim looked up in surprise, which quickly turned to fear. The fear only lasted a second as a bullet dropped him to the floor. Time was precious and Carlo searched frantically..._

_..._

Life was moving much slower on the other side of town. Typically, January in Palm Beach, Florida, was a time to rest up from the holidays and get one's life in order before the snowbirds of winter returned to their homes in the North, and the flood of students on spring break took their place.

It was a quiet Sunday afternoon, halfway through this quiet month, when Sergeant Rita Lance walked across the living room of her fiancé's apartment. Said fiancé was sound asleep on the couch with the TV blaring just a few feet away from his head. The basketball game he had been attempting to watch was now in its final quarter as he snored softly, oblivious to all the action on the screen.

Picking up empty glasses and snack wrappers off of the coffee table, Rita silently observed his relaxed pose. The previous week had been a tiring one, full of paperwork and meetings, and this was the perfect way to spend a rare afternoon with nothing to do.

She shook her head and grinned at the slumbering figure. "Okay, sleepyhead, you win. I don't have the heart to wake you, but I'm not taking the trash out. It will be waiting for you when you get up." Laughing quietly, she headed for the kitchen area. As soon as the small apartment was in order, she was looking forward to a little downtime herself.

Rita made quick work of straightening the sink area, and before too long it was time to finish up in the living room. Chris had taken care of the upstairs earlier in the day, and this was the final room to complete. She returned to the coffee table, standing between it and the couch so she could use the remote to switch off the TV. No sooner had she done that, than an arm shot out around her waist, catching her unaware, pulling her backward. She found herself sitting across her partner's legs.

"I thought you were sound asleep," Rita said, laughing at Chris as he stretched and yawned.

Sleepy blue eyes regarded her warmly. "You should have woken me up, Sam."

"What for? We don't have any plans. Besides," she teased as she made herself more comfortable, "you looked so peaceful, I didn't have the heart to disturb you."

Chris put a quick end to her restless movements by pulling her down until she was stretched out full length on top of him. "You always disturb me, " he murmured against her mouth, "but in all the right places."

Their lips met in a slow, lazy kiss as Rita shifted around on top, her body automatically molding itself to its favorite spot. Firm hands gripped her hips, holding her close and unconsciously matching her gentle rhythmic motions.

"This had better not be a dream," he whispered, releasing her lips. He smiled as she fumbled with the hem of his blue cotton T-shirt.

"No dream," she assured him breathlessly, "unless I'm in it with you." Pushing his shirt up as far as she could without removing it, Rita bent her head to taste him. Her tongue flicked across his nipples.

Chris shivered. "You're always in my dreams," he assured her. His eyes closed as her mouth left a wet trail across his stomach. Each touch of her soft lips branded him time and time again. The yearning grew stronger by the second.

"Should I turn the game back on?" Rita teased.

Passion filled blue eyes flew open in confusion. "What game?" His gaze remained fixed on her as she laughed and sat up, slowly unbuttoning the long-sleeved gray shirt she had borrowed from his closet. Each innocent little button gave way to reveal more and more of the satiny skin that had been hiding beneath the soft cotton material. It soon became obvious that she didn't have much on underneath. Shouldn't there be a law about cleaning house in this type of outfit? What mere mortal man could resist such temptation? He pulled her back down, his mouth fastening onto one dusky rose peak. She moaned and he felt her nipple harden in response to the loving assault. One hand let go of her waist to cover its mate and knead gently. He released her, catching sight of her expression as he switched sides. Her playfulness had deepened to desire, the joy had turned to need. She was just as lost in the intimate connection as he was.

Rita's breath became shallow and panting, her bare stomach lying skin to skin with his. She gasped at the feel of cold air passing over the hard, wet peaks when he released her. His mouth hungrily sought hers and she gasped again as his hands trailed over the swell of hips and tightened, pulling her closer against his growing arousal. The mind-numbing kiss continued, and there were no protests as she helped him get rid of the barriers between them. She moaned and took charge, guiding him into her body and it was his turn to cry out. He let her set the pace from her position on top, but kept hold of her hips and matched her erotic movements in a way that was guaranteed to be as sensually stimulating for her as it was for him.

Rita was so close to sensory overload, she had to keep stopping to prolong the experience. This was the ultimate intimacy between a man and a woman, indescribable to anyone who hadn't experienced it with someone they truly loved, and she was in no way racing towards completion. That would surely come in time. What was more important to her now was savoring every moment on the way there. Life wasn't always about the destination. Especially when the journey felt this mind-numbingly good.

Surviving this journey was Chris' biggest concern right now as Rita tortured him; driving him to the brink of fulfillment and then stopping again and again. Just when he thought he was going to go out of his mind he felt her body tense up. Letting go of her hips, he reached down between them and watched in satisfaction as her back arched in response to his touch. He had momentarily forgotten about his own pleasure, but as Rita closed her eyes in ecstasy and tightened around him, he was caught up in her momentum and automatically thrust up, finding his own explosive release inside of her.

Rita had collapsed on top of him, and Chris held her close, not wanting to separate from her yet. Neither one of them spoke for a few minutes, content to enjoy a comfortable silence as their spent bodies attempted to recharge.

"Feel free to disturb me any time you want," he finally murmured against her hair. "I haven't felt this completely relaxed in a long time."

Nestled on top of her partner's chest Rita was content and more than willing to stay right where she was. It wasn't until several minutes later that her thoughts started wandering and she rested her chin on top of her hands to look into his eyes. "Is it just my imagination, or has Cap been working us a lot harder than usual lately?"

"I would say," Chris whispered, before stopping to plant a kiss on the tip of the perfect little nose in front of him, "that you are correct in that assumption." He brushed the hair back from her eyes and ran a finger across the lips that had turned down into a frown. "Remember what Cap said, Sam. The commissioner is going to be watching our every move for a while."

"That's not exactly fair, Chris. We have an excellent record."

"And that's why he is willing to consider letting us work together for the time being."

"So, what is Cap trying to prove by doubling our workload? Did you see how many files he put on my desk Friday? Some of them date back six years!"

"He's just trying to prove how irreplaceable we are and how effective we are as a team. I promise you, Sam, this won't go on too much longer. The commissioner will forget all about us the minute something new comes up. We just have to avoid drawing attention to ourselves until then."

"Understandable, Chris, but I think our past record proves our value as a team beyond a shadow of a doubt."

"I agree, but you know what Cap said about the future."

"I heard him. We can only work together as long as we don't broadcast the news of our engagement, or until our personal relationship interferes with the job. As soon as we get married, we're reassigned. The police commission will not grant, nor allow, any exceptions."

"To tell you the truth," Chris confessed, "it's more lenient than I expected."

Nodding in agreement, Rita grinned affectionately and toyed with his bottom lip. "You really did surprise me when you proposed," she admitted. "I've been wondering if you took all these work-related issues into consideration when you decided to do it."

"Of course, I did."

"And you were willing to risk our partnership?"

"Remember our conversation in the hotel room before the New Year's Eve party?"

Rita nodded sheepishly, "I remember a lot of things about that hotel room before the party."

Chris' hands strayed to her hips and squeezed. "Yeah, well, I'm talking about the little chat we had right in the middle of all the other fun stuff."

She chuckled softly, "I remember it."

"When you mentioned that we had to take risks in order to move on to more important goals in life, I knew you felt the same way I did about the future. In my heart, I hoped we could remain partners for a while, but I wasn't sure it could be worked out." Chris took hold of her chin with one hand and placed a soft kiss on her mouth before continuing, "You are the best partner I have ever worked with. You know that, Sam. I don't expect anyone else to even come close, but it was a chance I had to take. I need you in my life. Not just at work, but forever."

Rita let her lips convey her approval of his actions and his bravery. Would she have had the guts to take that first giant step the way Chris had? She wasn't sure, but luckily Chris had had enough confidence for both of them.

As they broke apart, Chris mumbled against her lips, "We still have to give Cap some type of a time frame."

"I've been meaning to talk to you about that, Mr. Lorenzo," she responded quietly.

"Hmmm... talk away." He tried to remain focused, but her restless movements were starting to get to him and a quiet urgency was beginning to rekindle deep within.

Rita watched her fiancé carefully. She'd given the matter a lot of thought over the last few weeks. "If it's okay with you, I'd like us to stay as we are, and get used to being engaged for a little while. This is all pretty new to me."

Chris leaned up and nuzzled the side of her neck, "You hate change, Sam."

She pulled back a little and stared down at him in surprise, "I do not."

His lips traveled lower, tasting her collar bone and the hollows at the base of her throat. "Yes, you do, you always have."

"Are you saying that you want to get married next month?" Continuing to lean back to grant him better access to her highly sensitized body, Rita managed to ask the question despite his wandering mouth. Much to her surprise, Chris sat up on the couch and wrapped his arms around her waist. Her legs had nowhere else to go except around his torso; her arms around his neck. She found herself nose to nose with her smiling mate. His playful grin earned an immediate answering one from her.

Chris' eyes narrowed as he regarded the love of his life, and his voice was passionate and concerned, "I don't ever want to make you uncomfortable, Sam, and I don't want to rush you. You know my intentions, and I hope they're the same as yours." Pulling her tighter against him, Chris watched her head fall back in pleasure. "I want us to have a home together," he murmured, "no more roaming from one apartment to the other. I want us to have kids someday...at least three or four." That got her attention, just as he intended.

Sultry green eyes took in his devilish glint with surprise, "Three or four?!"

"Hmmm..." He pretended to give the matter serious consideration, but a grin quickly broke out. "Okay, maybe just one or two."

"You're hopeless," she said, laughing as she shook her head at his antics. "What am I going to do with you?"

"You'll think of something, Sammy," he whispered huskily against her lips.

And of course, she did. Silencing him the best way she knew, Rita had difficulty breaking away when the ringing telephone on the table next to them interrupted their love play.

"Let the recorder get it," Chris suggested, his voice heavy with desire. He groaned impatiently as Rita shook her head. "Hold on," he said shifting closer so he could lean across and reach the receiver.

"Lorenzo," he answered sharply.

"Chris," Captain Harry Lipschitz said in a relieved voice. "I'm glad I caught you in."

It was all Chris could do to prevent a mild expletive from slipping out.

"Hey, Cap, it's a Sunday afternoon," he finally managed. "What's up?"

"I need you and Lance to head over to the bus depot. We just got a call. The station security guard found a body in the men's room."

"Can't Walters and Benton handle this one? It's been a hell of a week."

"Walters and Benton are already out on another call, you're all I got," Harry barked in response. He was obviously not in the mood for small talk. "I'll leave it to you to get a hold of your partner. Be there ASAP." The line went dead.

Chris hung up the phone and placed a quick hard kiss on his fiancé's mouth. "So much for a quiet afternoon, Sam. Duty calls."

Breaking apart after indulging in one last passionate kiss, Rita murmured against her partner's lips, "Hold that thought for later."

Blue eyes, half-closed in sensual longing, watched her every move. "Think you'll be able to remember where we left off?" Chris asked.

"I'm counting on it," Rita assured him as she stood up. "Come on. You need a quick shower and a shave."

It wasn't difficult to convince her fiancé to follow her. Not wanting to lose sight of the open gray shirt that barely covered the tops of her shapely legs, Chris was right behind Rita as she sprinted up the stairs.

* * *

….

Detectives Lance and Lorenzo walked across the bus depot toward the crowd of curious onlookers surrounding the men's restroom. Making their way through the large group, Chris lifted the yellow crime scene tape for his partner to pass under, before following right behind her. There was no need to flash their badges here, all the uniformed officers were known to them.

_Carlo stood in the crowd trying to blend in. He was surprised when the people next to him moved over to let two more officers get past. These two new ones looked more like photographer's models than polizia. Unfortunately, he couldn't leave them to their work until he was confident that the item he needed was not here. It was difficult to remain patient as the incompetent officials buzzed around, trying to find clues. He was a professional, they would find nothing. _

Once inside the large public restroom, it was easy to spot the medical examiner assigned to the case. Keisha, a striking African-American beauty with a keen intelligence and sharp wit, favored bright-colored clothing that drew all eyes to her immediately. Right now, she was dressed in a tangerine-colored suit as she stood next to a row of urinals. She looked up as the detectives approached.

"Hey, you two. I didn't think you were ever going to get here."

"Keisha..." Rita nodded and smiled a hello. Glancing around the tiled room she made note of the blood-splattered wall. Not much else seemed out of place.

"They're ready to move him as soon as you're done," the ME informed them. She laughed as Chris grimaced in her direction.

"It's a Sunday afternoon," he explained. "What have we got here?"

"Poor baby," she crooned. Stepping back from the body, Keisha described the probable position of the victim as he was shot and the damage the bullet had inflicted. "I'll know more of course after I get him on the table."

"Do we have an ID?" Rita asked. Stepping away from the body, she let the coroner's team take over.

Keisha shook her head. "No wallet or any personal effects were found, but this guy is wearing some extremely fine clothing. I know this suit cost a month's salary, at least."

Rita bent down over the victim and lifted the yellow plastic sheet. "Not to mention these shoes," she murmured in appreciation of the expensive-looking pair. "This isn't your everyday bus passenger."

"Robbery?" Chris threw out the suggestion doubtfully and glanced at his partner.

"Seems a little too drastic of a response considering they did get his wallet," Rita responded as she stood up again.

"My thoughts exactly," Chris agreed. "I keep wondering what a high roller like this guy is doing in a bus station, and I don't like any of the answers I'm coming up with." Glancing around the room as he spoke, Chris noticed the light reflecting off of something metallic on the tile floor. Crouching down, he found a key partially hidden behind the large wastebasket. He stood up to show Rita and motioned for the station security guard to come over and join them. The guard quickly confirmed that the key was probably for one of the storage lockers located at different points all around the station. Checking the number on the key, he offered to lead them to the right area.

_Carlo glanced impatiently at his watch, wondering if Michael was still parked outside the entrance waiting for him. What should have been a quick job was turning into a half-day affair. He was tempted to leave, but something was going on inside the restroom, he just knew it. Straining his neck, he tried to get a better look, but there were too many people in the doorway. Suddenly, the group disbursed and the two good looking cops were following the station guard and walking right towards him. Carlo dropped his eyes as the woman looked his way. It was time to draw back from the scene. He casually walked over to one of the empty benches in the waiting room area and sat down, not wanting to seem too interested. _

The crowd outside the restroom had finally begun to clear away, but the yellow crime scene tape remained as Chris and Rita followed the guard to the far side of the depot.

"Our shooter could have easily disappeared into this crowd after the hit," Rita commented as they walked.

Chris nodded in agreement. "It's going to be damn near impossible to find any witnesses. Except for employees, anyone who was here at the time has probably left on a bus by now."

"Here we are, Sergeant," the security guard announced, turning to Chris.

Chris used the key to open the locker and peered inside. Reaching in, he pulled out a brown leather briefcase. The slim case was unlocked and the only item inside it was a binder containing a thick printout. Chris handed this off to Rita and continued to look through each separate pocket inside the case for any form of I.D. There was none to be found.

"What do you have?" Chris asked after completing his search.

Rita flipped through the pages. They were all the same. "It looks like a computer report of some kind. No words or descriptions, just pages, and pages of numbers. This may or may not belong to our victim. It's hard to tell."

"The key could have fallen out of his hand as he was shot," Chris admitted. "We'll inform the station master that we're taking this into evidence. If it belongs to someone else, they'll come looking for it."

"I'll go talk to him," Rita offered.

"Don't worry about it, I have to interview him anyway. Why don't you follow Keisha back to the shop, and I'll meet you there when I'm done here." Chris turned to the security guard. "Ask your boss to meet me in the main office in fifteen minutes." He leaned over to whisper to Rita as they watched the young guard scamper away, "Maybe if we're lucky, we can be done with this by five and pick up where we left off."

With a teasing grin, Rita responded quickly, "You can finally finish your nap."

"That's not where I remember leaving off, Sam," he murmured, stealing a quick look into her eyes.

"You'd better get back to work then, so you can remind me when we get home."

"I'll do that," Chris promised.

_So, it was here all along. Va Bene, they had done his work for him. The rest would be simple. Brown eyes, so dark as to appear black, watched the detectives closely. _

_There were too many people around to make a move now, but the right time would come if he remained patient. He would not be returning empty-handed this time. Signore Adesso would be pleased. _

Together, Chris and Rita walked back to the restroom and the small group of officers still going over the crime scene. Within a short time, the evidence had been bagged, tagged and prepared for transport. Ready to leave, Rita went in search of Chris. She found him waiting to interview the cashier working the station newsstand.

"Hey, partner," she called out to him. "Are you sure you don't want any help finishing up here? You're going to need a ride."

"I've got it handled," Chris assured her with a smile. "There's no point in both of us being stuck here. Dawson is giving me a lift. I won't be more than an hour behind you. Be sure and give me a call if Keisha comes up with any surprises, or if you figure out what those numbers mean."

"You got it. I'll see you back at the shop."

Chris turned back to the man at the register who was just finishing up a sale. He showed him a Polaroid picture of the victim's face.

"Do you remember seeing this gentleman walking around here today?"

"Isn't this the guy?" the vendor asked, opening up a current copy of the Miami Times. On page six there was a black and white photo that looked a lot like the victim.

Chris purchased the paper and scanned the article. Their victim was Wayne Martel, president of Martel Sporting Goods. The article stated that the sports equipment company had been started by Wayne's father in the early fifties. The elder Martel had passed away a year ago, and despite the fact that father and son didn't get along because of the son's free-spending habits, he couldn't bear the thought of all he had worked for passing out of the family's control, so he left his entire empire to his wayward son.

It had only taken ten months for Wayne's casual management style and continuous bad investments to ruin the forty-five-year-old company. The article focused on the impending bankruptcy procedures and the hundreds of employees that would now be out of work.

Chris snapped the paper shut. He needed to finish up the interviews here at the station, so they could get working on Martel's background. Pulling out his cell phone, he was just about to dial Rita's number when the security guard approached him.

"Sergeant?" the guard said stopping in front of him, "The station master is in his office waiting for you."

"Great, I'll be right in." Looking around the depot, it only took Chris a few seconds to locate one of the remaining uniformed officers. "Hanson," he called out quickly. The officer came over right away. "I just got a possible ID on the body." He handed the officer a page from his notebook. "Call this into the station and have them pass the information on to Sergeant Lance and the medical examiner's office."

"Certainly, Sergeant."

Chris stopped the officer before she could leave. "And tell Dawson not to leave without me. I have just a few more people to talk to, and then I'll be ready."

Betty Hanson smiled at her co-worker. "I'll remind him, Sir."

They were making progress. Chris nodded his head in satisfaction and followed the security guard to the station master's office. With a little luck, maybe he'd be able to head home at a reasonable hour tonight, and save the taxpayers a few overtime dollars in the process.

Less than an hour later, he'd realize what a foolish and naive thought that had been.

* * *

….

Head bent down as he flipped through his notes, Chris used his shoulder to push open the swinging door to the homicide division of the PBPD. He didn't look up until he reached his desk, ready to fire off a comment to his partner. Surprised that she wasn't sitting in the chair across from him, he looked around the room. She was nowhere to be seen, so he headed over to the Captain's office and rapped on the door with his knuckles. A voice from inside bade him enter.

"Hey, Cap."

"What do you have, Lorenzo?" Harry stopped writing and looked up at the young detective as he questioned him.

Chris sat down in one of the empty chairs in front of Harry's desk. "It looks like we have one male Caucasian in his late forties. The victim's name was Wayne Martel, and he was president of the Martel Sporting Goods empire." Chris handed the folded newspaper to Harry. "Page six has a nice picture of our guy."

Harry opened the paper and lifted the glasses off his nose to read the small print. "It says here that the company was declaring bankruptcy. Are we sure this wasn't a suicide? Wouldn't be the first time a situation like this leads a guy to end it all."

"Oh, we're sure all right. It looks like one round, probably a nine millimeter, to the back of the head. Might even have been professional."

Harry looked up with interest. "A professional hit? At the bus station? What makes you think that?"

"Gut instinct mostly right now, but there are a few signs that point in that direction. Didn't Rita fill you in?"

"I haven't seen your partner yet. I thought she was still with you." Harry leaned back in his chair and set his glasses down on the desk.

Chris reached for Harry's phone and dialed Keisha's extension.

"Keisha, it's Chris. Is Rita down there with you?"

Harry watched Chris' expression tense up.

Chris hung up the phone and shook his head. "Keisha hasn't seen Rita since she left the crime scene. That was over an hour ago. I don't like this, Cap. She should have arrived back here by now."

"Try her cell phone," Harry suggested. "Then try dispatch and find out the time of their last contact with her. If Rita had car trouble, she would have called in."

Harry left Chris on the phone in his office and took a walk downstairs. Just the suspicion of a professional hit, combined with Rita's failure to return from the scene, was setting off all the warning lights in the back of his mind. Too many years on the beat in New York had taught him to never underestimate the dark side of life.

A brief interview with Keisha only increased his concern. The medical examiner had been preparing to leave the crime scene at about the same time as Rita and had seen her get into her car and leave the lot. After talking to the uniformed officers that had been assigned to the call, it appeared that Keisha was the last person to have seen Rita.

Back in the Captain's office, Chris tried his partner's cell phone. No answer. He tried paging her with an emergency code from the station. No response. Dispatch reported no contact with Sergeant Lance after she checked in as she left the crime scene. At Chris' request, they attempted to contact her again but were unsuccessful. It was getting harder and harder to avoid panicking. Chris was just about to go looking for the Captain when Harry returned. Any hope of good news died a quick death at the sight of his boss's face.

His words were even less of a comfort. "I'm not sure what's going on here, but I've asked dispatch to put out an APB on Rita's car."

Chris started pacing the floor of the small office. His partner was no more than an hour late getting back to the office, but there was no logical explanation for why she would ever be completely out of touch while on the job. "Something is not right, Cap. I should get out there and start looking for her."

Harry walked over to Chris and stopped him with a hand lightly placed on his shoulder. "Okay, Chris. I agree that this doesn't feel right, but if something has gone wrong, we need to be smart about it. Let's not waste any time." Relieved that his words seemed to be getting through to Chris, he suggested, "Come here and sit down. Let's go over everything that went on at the bus station." Harry returned to his desk chair. "I'm calling Keisha and two of the uniforms that were there to join us. Somebody must have noticed something."

Harry had just picked up the phone to dial the medical examiner's extension when two men walked in unannounced and without knocking. He looked up in annoyance, but his hostile glance didn't even phase the two intruders. Both were dressed in worn-out jeans, denim shirts, and faded flight jackets, but their casual attire was counterbalanced by the aura of authority that surrounded them. One of the two turned to close the office door behind him, and both police officers immediately spotted the letters DEA on the back of his jacket.

Chris became agitated. Whatever these two wanted, he didn't have time for it. His partner, forget that... Rita was missing.

"Excuse me, gentlemen," he said standing up to face the two agents, "You're interrupting a private meeting."

"Sit down, Chris," Harry said quietly.

Chris looked at his boss in surprise but did as he was instructed.

"My guess is, these two already know about the situation." Harry had been around long enough to recognize all the signs.

The shooting in the bus station restroom was probably tied into an ongoing investigation and these two had been sent to put a lid on any PBPD involvement. He knew the breed, and he also knew that they didn't like their toes stepped on, especially by local law enforcement.

"What's going on here?" Chris asked in confusion.

The older of the two men answered, "You've stumbled into our investigation, Sergeant. As your Captain has correctly guessed, we've been following Martel for quite some time." Hardened by too many years in a job that slowly ate away at a man's soul, Dan Ramirez paid little attention to the protests of a homicide detective. He didn't expect them to see the larger picture because their jobs focused on a part of the world that was too small to appreciate the global aspects of this type of crime. The sooner the situation was back in the hands of the Drug Enforcement Agency, the better. "I'm sorry, Sergeant, the DEA has jurisdiction on this. Don't bother opening a file. I have papers here authorizing you to turn any and all evidence over to us. We've got it handled."

"You obviously don't have it handled too good, buddy. Your guy, the one you've been following so closely, is dead. Shot in a public restroom."

"Chris..." Harry warned quietly before turning to the two strangers. "It seems the situation is a little more complicated than you were probably led to believe."

Lt. Ramirez spoke quickly, "Explain, Captain."

"One of my detectives, Sergeant Lance, is missing."

"Unfortunately, Captain, the syndicate we are dealing with is known for having officers in their back pocket. Are you sure that Sergeant Lance isn't somehow involved in all this?"

Chris jumped back out of his seat and stood toe to toe with Ramirez. Harry followed quickly and got between them as Chris raised his voice in anger.

"That's my partner you're talking about!" he roared, all the fear and anxiety finding a place to vent with the arrogant agent. "And you had better hope that your incompetence hasn't endangered her in some way."

The quieter of the two agents spoke up for the first time. His eyes swept over the young detective, dressed in trendy pastel colors. The contempt in them was clear for all to see. "Is that a threat, Sergeant?"

Chris turned away from Ramirez and stared back. "Take it any way you want, but don't expect me to back off of this while my partner is missing." Turning his back to the small group, he walked across the room, trying to get his emotions under control.

Harry interrupted them before things really got out of hand. "Gentlemen, please have a seat. I'm sure we can work this out to both our benefits."

"Can't do that, Captain. We need to pick up the evidence, the briefcase in particular, and then we're out of here." Dan Ramirez handed the written orders to Harry, who looked questioningly at Chris.

Chris glared defiantly at both agents. "Sergeant Lance has the briefcase. She was on her way back to the station when we lost contact with her." His temper started boiling again as Ramirez and Ferguson exchanged knowing glances.

Harry's phone rang, interrupting the little drama.

"What is it?" he hollered into the mouthpiece. "We're on it." Slamming the phone down, he motioned for Chris to follow him out the door. "Rita's car is in a parking lot on Beach Street."

His comments had everyone in the small office scrambling into action. The DEA agents were on their cell phones confirming the location of the car before they reached the swinging doors. Two separate vehicles sped anxiously toward the small area of coastline where Rita's car had been found abandoned.

Harry pulled into the beachfront parking lot, and Chris was out of the car before he came to a full stop.

Uniformed officers stood near the small sedan, preserving the integrity of the scene.

"Chris!" Harry called out to Rita's frantic partner, "Be careful! The car hasn't been dusted yet," he reminded him. While fully aware that Chris was having difficulty thinking of this as a possible crime scene, they couldn't afford to make any mistakes, just in case the worse possible scenario came to pass.

Chris took a deep breath and pulled on a pair of latex gloves. He tried to remain detached as he looked over his surroundings, but the fear building deep in the pit of his stomach was just below the surface now. Rita's car was parked haphazardly across two spaces. The driver's side door was open, as if whatever had gone on, had happened so quickly, no one had taken the few seconds required to close it behind them. He leaned inside to have a better look. Her keys were still in the ignition, the buzzing in the background a persistent reminder of the missing driver. There was no sign of her purse or the missing briefcase.

"Back away from the car, Sergeant Lorenzo."

Chris closed his eyes and counted to ten, trying to ignore the imperious command. If he concentrated, he could still feel her essence in the car. The light fragrance of her perfume; the quiet hum of her voice as she spoke. The spell around him was broken at the sound of a gun being pulled from its holster.

"This is a matter for the DEA now, Sergeant," Dan Ramirez warned, wondering why these young guys always had to make it so difficult. Their confidence and faith in human nature was misplaced. Someday they would learn that almost everyone in this world had a price, and no one was better at finding out what that price was than Vincent Adesso. He was a master at the game and had eluded Ramirez for years.

Taking one last quick glance around the car, Chris stepped back and went to stand next to his boss.

Arms folded across his chest; Harry waited as the DEA went over the car. Two additional agents had joined Ramirez and Ferguson as they went through the glove box, back seat, and trunk. The vehicle was dusted for prints and photographed.

"You aren't going to let them take over, are you, Cap?" Chris questioned in disgust. "They don't care what's happened to Rita, they just want their evidence back." His comments drew a self-satisfied glance from Ferguson.

Harry motioned for Chris to follow him as he walked further away from Rita's car. "This really complicates things, Chris, but you know me better than that. There are ways to work around these guys, but we have to tread softly. If we try and go toe to toe, we'll lose. As federal officers they have jurisdiction." Harry put a concerned hand on Chris' shoulder. "I've worked with this type before. Let me get as much information as I can out of them, and then we'll find a way to proceed. I promise."

Chris nodded in understanding, but the dread was still there, making him sick to his stomach. They were forced to waste time with these guys while Rita was in trouble. He wasn't sure how much patience he could muster for this. He followed the Captain back toward the car. They were just in time to overhear Ramirez receive a full report on Sergeant Rita Lee Lance of the Palm Beach Police Department.

"She's single, no family ties here in town, or elsewhere for that matter," Ferguson informed his boss. "Fits the profile," was his smug conclusion, "and she was the last one seen with the briefcase."

Harry kept one hand on Chris' arm as the younger man's eyes narrowed in anger. He felt the muscles under his fingers harden. "Ignore them," he whispered.

Ramirez walked over to his partner, and they leaned against the car as they looked over the personnel file that had been given to them by their associates.

"She's beautiful," Dan commented as he glanced at the photograph in the folder.

"If you like the type," Ferguson agreed reluctantly. "And I'll bet our buddy Vincent does. How much do you think she can get for the list? Assuming she's willing to sweeten the deal."

Chris flew across the few feet separating him from the agents. His hands grabbed the front of Ferguson's shirt and yanked him forward at about the same time Harry grabbed on to his arms to stop him. A lot of yelling and commotion followed as the uniformed officers jumped in to lend a hand. Whether they were trying to help Sergeant Lorenzo or restrain him, was a matter to be taken up when, and if, a full investigation was done on the incident. The crowd of onlookers watching the undignified display was growing, attracted by the noise and the yellow crime scene tape.

Ramirez was beyond upset at this point. His job necessitated a low profile, and this meant putting a quick lid on any inter-agency nonsense.

Captain Lipschitz pulled Chris off of Ferguson and dragged him over to the side. Out of the corner of his eye, he spotted the angry head agent walking towards them. Thinking quickly, he jabbed Chris in the chest with his index finger and hollered loud enough for everyone to hear.

"I want your badge, Sergeant, and I want it now!"

The adrenaline was still coursing through his veins, and Chris wasn't sure he had heard Harry correctly. "Cap?" Admittedly, he had stepped over the line, but he felt justified in his actions.

"Can it, Lorenzo," Harry insisted loudly. "You are on suspension, without pay, as of this very minute. I want your badge and your gun immediately." He turned to one of the young uniformed officers. "Pull out your sidearm, Carson. If I don't have Lorenzo's badge in the next thirty seconds, I want you to cuff him."

Jim Carson, a rookie and long-time admirer of the famous homicide team of Lance and Lorenzo, watched the Captain's temper explode with wide eyes and a pounding heart, but he did as he was told. Everything was happening so fast, it was like being part of a bad dream, and all he wanted to do was wake up and have the nightmare over with. In his opinion, Sergeant Lorenzo had been acting with just cause. The DEA agent's comments about Sergeant Lance had been uncalled for and overheard by all. One thing you could always count on at the PBPD was the support of fellow officers when one of their own was in danger or unfairly treated.

Stunned, Chris searched the Captain's face, trying to understand his attitude. Sure, he had overreacted, but Ferguson had no right to say what he did. Besides, Rita's life was still in danger. Ramirez walked up to the small group and Chris tried to hold his head up as he turned over the official trappings of his job. This wasn't over yet, not by a long shot. He happened to catch a glimpse of Carson's face as he turned away. He nodded slightly to the rookie, sympathetic to the young man's plight. With one last confused glance at the Captain and a glare directed at Ramirez, he stalked away angrily.

"I'm glad to see that someone here has retained some sense," the agent in charge commented.

If he was looking for an ally, he was looking in the wrong place, but Harry held his tongue in the hopes of eventually getting some information out of him. Each minute that passed without finding Rita, lessened their chances of finding her before something unthinkable happened.

"We've got the scene contained, and it looks like you have your renegade detective contained now also, so the DEA will be taking over from here. The car will be going into evidence for the time being, and I'd appreciate it if you'd dismiss the uniforms. They're no longer necessary."

"And Sergeant Lance's whereabouts?" Harry inquired calmly. "Any clues as to who might have pulled her out of her car?" It was too bad nobody had ever informed the Feds that they were all working on the same side.

"As far as we're concerned right now, Sergeant Lance is a suspect until we have some proof that she was taken against her will."

Harry shook his head as he watched Rita's car being loaded onto the flatbed tow truck that had just arrived. "And you don't find her abandoned car, with the door wide open and keys still in the ignition, proof enough?"

"I know you have a lot of faith in your detectives, Captain, but there are no signs that Sergeant Lance has come to any harm, and everything you just mentioned could easily have been set up to throw us off. I've seen it done hundreds of times. You need to realize that the evidence Sergeant Lance had in her possession was worth two or three million if she's smart about it."

Harry's eyes narrowed and a small vein in his forward was visibly throbbing as he listened to the callous comments made about one of the best detectives he had ever worked with. Years of experience dealing with this type of cop were all that kept him from reacting in the same way Chris had. He mentally talked himself into relaxing and unclenching his teeth.

"I appreciate your quick handling of Lorenzo, Captain. I'm sure I can convince Ferguson to just let the matter drop." Dan Ramirez held out his hand.

Harry spoke up as they shook, "And I, in turn, would appreciate any help you can give us as far as Sergeant Lance is concerned." It was difficult to get the words out, but he knew it was vital to keep open the lines of communication, no matter how slim they were. "If Sergeant Lance has attempted to sell the evidence, it will not only be a federal matter but an IA matter as well. We take swift action with dirty cops here in Palm Beach."

Ramirez nodded understandingly. He was beginning to take a liking to the quirky Captain. "I'm glad to hear that. I'll personally let you know what I find out."

Harry managed a brittle smile. "Thank you."

* * *

….

Muffled voices could be heard arguing in the distance. It was impossible to make out the words, but Rita instinctively knew that they weren't speaking in English. She struggled against the handcuffs that kept her hands bound behind the heavy wooden chair, but it was of no use. Blindfolded and angry with herself for landing in this position, it was easy to temporarily forget about the fear. How could she have let them take her out of her own vehicle? Driving back to the station on a small coastal road, she had reacted instinctively when the car in front of her slammed on its brakes, forcing her to do the same to avoid a collision. Her nerves had been rattled by the near-miss, and she didn't think to suspect trouble when the two men stepped out of the car in front of her and came over to check on her condition. As she emerged from her own vehicle, she had been grabbed her by her arms and no matter how much she fought them, the odds were against her. Within seconds she had been blindfolded, handcuffed, and then shoved roughly into the back seat of their sedan. The evidence bag was thrown back there with her and one of the men left to move her car off of the road. Calling out for help was the only alternative left to her and she did her best. A hard slap across the face was the last thing she could remember before waking up in the heavy wooden chair, still blindfolded.

The voices drew closer and Rita felt a draft as the door to the room was opened. Two men approached her, standing a few feet away as they talked. They seemed to be arguing about whether or not to tell someone nicknamed il lupo, that she was there. Having come to the conclusion that they were speaking Italian, a language she was not very familiar with, Rita tried to pick out whatever words she could.

_"Com'e` bella._" The whispered compliment from the man referred to as Carlo was accompanied by a firm hand taking hold of her chin and forcing her face to turn toward him.

Rita jerked her head backward, freeing herself from the unwelcome grip.

"_Posso andare ora?_" the younger man, Michael, asked.

"English, you fool," Carlo lectured. "How do you expect to learn anything if you don't even try." Sighing in disgust, he continued speaking sharply in a heavily accented voice. "Yes, you can go now, but _il lupo_ has returned. Tell him that we have a guest and find out what he wants us to do with her."

Rita recognized the voices of the two men as the two who had kidnapped her. Carlo was obviously in charge and the more dangerous of the duo. There was a heavy silence in the room as the door closed behind Michael.

"What do you want from me?" she finally asked, unnerved by the quiet. Unable to move or see, she tilted her head, dependent on her hearing to pick up any clues.

"It is not what I want,_ Signorina,_ that counts here," Carlo murmured as he moved closer. If his boss gave the order to get rid of the woman, he would do so, but only after he was done with her himself. Her skin was as white as a dove's feathers and just as soft to the touch.

Rita shivered in revulsion as Carlo ran a finger down the side of her neck. Luckily, they were interrupted at that moment by Michael's return.

"_Andiamo!_" Michael called out as he flung open the bedroom door. Mistaking the cause of the anger in Carlo's eyes, he quickly added in English, "He wants to see her now, let's go!"

"I can handle the woman," Carlo informed Michael abruptly. "Go on your break. I'll bring her downstairs in a minute."

Michael looked at his partner suspiciously, but he was in no mood to be the target of the hostile man's temper. "I am going outside, Carlo. I need a cigarette. Do whatever you wish," he added. "I will let him know you are on the way." With one last glance at the small woman in the chair, he left the room and closed the door behind him.

Rita squinted as the blindfold was removed. The dim lighting in the room was harsh after hours of darkness. One wrist was freed from the handcuffs so she could be lifted roughly out of the chair. She tried to avoid falling forward. Carlo was still holding onto her arms and he yanked her back toward him, quickly re-cuffing her wrists behind her back.

"Where are you taking me?" she hissed, unable to get away from the hands that had moved to her waist and were pulling her back up against his front.

"_In bocca al lupo_," he laughed, enjoying her struggles. "Into the mouth of the wolf, little one. And if he doesn't devour you right away, maybe he will give you to me." Carlo leaned down over the petite woman and his lips grazed over her neck. "Would you like that?" he asked arrogantly.

"You have no right to keep me here." Using the only weapon at her disposal, Rita brought the heel of one shoe down swift and hard onto his instep. When he pulled away in surprise and pain, she managed to turn and face him. She spoke up quickly as he raised his fist. "And did this 'wolf' as you call him, instruct you to manhandle and beat me before I see him?"

Dark eyes narrowed in hatred, but the fist came back down to his side. "I will enjoy continuing this at a later time, Signorina. You and I are not through." He would be patient. There was already a bruise on her face from the slap he had been lucky enough to administer in the car, and there was no guessing how Signore Adesso would react to their guest. A smart man knew when to bide his time and see how the circumstances played out. Shoving the woman towards the door he guided her down the wide carpeted stairway to the wolf's lair.

Rita was determined to ignore the sharp jabbing pushes between her shoulder blades. She followed Carlo's instructions while trying to memorize the inside layout of the large house. The walls were covered with expensive wood paneling, and each room they passed was filled with antique furniture and what looked like original artwork. The Persian rugs alone must have cost a small fortune. Although it was impossible to tell what city she was in from the inside of the home, houses of this size were not unusual in Palm Beach or the surrounding affluent communities. Her main concern was trying to locate any possible exits. If and when the opportunity to escape presented itself, she wanted to be ready.

Carlo grabbed her arm and they stopped in front of a pair of large double doors. The warm brown finish of the wood was smooth and flawless. He knocked twice and waited for permission to enter. "Guard your throat, little hellcat," he sneered, "the wolf may be hungry."

A voice from within called out for them to enter. Rita took a deep breath and held her head high as Carlo slid open the doors and pushed her into the room. She found herself in what looked like a study, complete with bookshelves lining the walls and a large desk off to one side. The high back leather chair behind the desk was turned around, facing the window behind it. A child's voice could be heard squealing with delight.

Rita watched a young boy, no more than four years old, peer around the chair and smile at her. He disappeared quickly, giggling as Carlo ordered her to stand in front of the desk.

_"Papa!"_

_"Si, Peppino?"_ a deep male voice answered from the chair.

_"Ti amo, Papa!"_ the young boy said laughing.

Carlo cleared his throat, waiting to be acknowledged by his boss. Rita watched the chair slowly turn, revealing the 'wolf' with the young boy squirming on his lap. It was impossible to ignore the joy in the child's face, despite the handcuffs reminding her of her vulnerable position. She smiled in return.

Vincent Adesso took a long calculating look at the woman facing him. Dropping a kiss on his son's dark curls, so much like his own at that age, he set the four-year-old on his feet. "Go see _Nonna_, in the kitchen, _Peppino_. It's time for your snack." He accepted the energetic hug sent his way and watched his son bounce out of the study. As soon as Carlo closed the doors, Vincent turned back to his unexpected guest.

Any hope that her captor would be reasonable disappeared when Rita noticed his eyes hardening the minute his son left the room. The intensity of his perusal was disconcerting, but instead of backing away, she faced him openly and took stock of the man in front of her. The self-assured 'wolf', as he was referred to, was classically dressed in an expensive silk suit and tie. With a Rolex on his wrist and a large diamond solitaire pinkie ring, he looked completely at home in the richly appointed room. He seemed to be about forty years old with only a dusting of gray in his short black hair. Piercing brown eyes studied her.

Carlo pushed her forward, toward a chair, but she shrugged away from him in irritation. Taking hold of the handcuffs he pulled upward, straining her arms painfully.

Without thinking, Rita stepped back onto his foot again.

He had taken enough from the woman, Carlo decided angrily. Grabbing her hair, he tried to force her down into the chair.

"Enough!" Vincent called out, raising a hand to signal the end of his patience. "Sit down, Sergeant Lance," he commanded.

"I can't sit with my hands cuffed like this," she informed him curtly. "They have fallen asleep." Turning around for him to see the steel bracelets, she caught a hateful look from Carlo. "Your employee has over tightened them."

"Release her."

Carlo moved quickly and did as he was instructed. If he was a little rougher than necessary, he thought he hid it well, squeezing the cuffs tighter before eventually unlocking them, and pushing her down into the chair facing the desk.

Vincent looked up at Carlo knowingly. Nothing escaped his notice. "You can wait outside the door," he instructed. Opening one of the side drawers to his desk, he pulled out Rita's gun and her badge, placing them with care on the desk. "My apologies for Carlo's behavior, Sergeant Lance. My name is Vincent, and you are a guest in my home."

Rita was still rubbing her wrists, trying to get the circulation going in her arms again. "Why am I being held here?"

"It seems that we have you to thank for returning my property to me, Sergeant Lance. I'm sorry that you have to be involved in my organization's internal problems, but it couldn't be helped."

"You have a strange way of showing your appreciation," Rita responded quietly. "Do you mind if I ask you exactly what type of organization we're talking about?"

"All in good time, Sergeant. I have an unexpected problem at the moment, and I'm not quite sure how to handle her."

The cards were now on the table.

"I don't know exactly what you're into here, Vincent, but you have my badge. You know I'm a police officer and that my department will be looking for me." And my partner too, Rita silently added to herself. So far, she hadn't allowed thoughts of what Chris must be going through to even enter her mind. She had to stay focused and get out of this situation. "What do you plan to do with me?"

Vincent was a very shrewd judge of character. Whatever the beautiful detective had just been thinking about had added extra fire to her eyes. He was intrigued by her spirit and intelligence. It would be such a waste to get rid of her, but he already knew it was the only acceptable alternative. No one person no matter how beautiful could be allowed to compromise his family. Luckily, now that the report was back in his hands, time was on his side and he could indulge a whim by enjoying her company for a little while longer.

"I hope you will dine with me tonight, Sergeant."

"You haven't answered my question," she reminded him. Rita watched in frustration as he ignored her, and pushed a button on the intercom. The doors opened and Carlo came back in.

"Carlo will take you back to your room where you can freshen up. Dinner is at eight. I will see you then." His dismissal of her was complete, and he turned back to the papers on his desk.

Rita stood up and exchanged glares with her jailer. She walked quickly towards the door, hoping to avoid the hands that reached for her. Just as Carlo grabbed hold of her arm, making her gasp in pain, a voice drew his attention.

_"Basta cosi, Carlo._ Enough!"

The hand on her arm loosened immediately but didn't let go. The walk upstairs was silent and Carlo left her in the bedroom without further incident. She was too wise to think he was done with her. She would have to be on her guard whenever she found herself alone with him. Vincent's curiosity about her would help her remain safe for the moment, but there were no guarantees on how long that would last.

Checking her watch, Rita was surprised to find that it was only six o'clock. She had two hours before dinner. As she kicked off her shoes and stretched out on the bed, it was impossible to stop her thoughts from drifting to Chris. What was he doing right now? Closing her eyes for a short rest, she could picture him easily. Had it really only been just a few short hours ago that she had lain in his arms so protected from the world and all of its problems?

Knowing her partner as well as she did, Rita knew without a doubt that he would be searching for her. She also knew that Carlo had probably not left any clues behind. It was up to her to find a way out of the wolf's lair before her host tired of her company.

* * *

….

Keisha sat down behind her desk, ready to get started on the half dozen reports that awaited her signature. Noise from a darkened corner of the large room drew her attention. She was shocked to see Chris walking toward her. Rising immediately, she rushed over to him. He looked tense and exhausted.

"Keisha," he whispered, holding a finger to his lips. No one else could know he was there. "Have you heard anything yet?"

"Chris!" She led her friend over to the chair next to hers. "I thought they sent you home. Does Captain Lipschitz know you're hanging around down here?"

"I don't know what happened today," he confessed. "One minute this guy is telling everyone that Rita is a dirty cop and that she's selling vital evidence, and the next minute I'm on suspension. I saw red. I couldn't let him get away with it!"

"I know, Chris," Keisha said, patting his arm. "I heard all about it. The entire station has been talking about nothing else since it happened."

"Have you done the autopsy yet?"

"I didn't get a chance to," she admitted.

"What?!"

"They took Martel away. Right after you left with Captain Lipschitz, the Feds were in here with all the paperwork signed and sealed."

Chris was back on his feet, pacing the floor next to Keisha's desk. Unanswered questions surrounded him, making it impossible for his mind or his body to rest while his partner was missing. "Can you tell me anything new at all? Did you get a chance to do any work on him before they arrived?"

"It was just like we suspected, Chris. Nine mm to the base of the skull."

Chris stopped and faced Keisha, wide-eyed and solemn. "Any word on Rita?" he asked in a harsh whisper. He looked away as she shook her head, and he stared blankly across the room. "I went back to the parking lot where her car was found. I've been over the entire lot a dozen times, but I can't find a single, solitary clue. I've even been to the bus station, but I can't find anyone who saw it happen."

"Don't make it any harder on yourself, Chris," Keisha suggested. "Go home and get some rest. Everyone is looking for Rita. They'll find her."

"They're looking for her because they think she's guilty," he spat out harshly. "I don't trust their actions. I have to locate her first."

"Just let me know what you need," she begged. "Rita is my friend. I'll do anything I can to help you."

"We need to find out who is involved in this. I have to find out who Martel was connected to. You can help by calling me if you hear anything upstairs." The two friends hugged goodbye quickly, and Chris paused before slipping out the back door, "Anything at all, Keisha. You never know what might be important."

"You got it," she whispered back. "Be careful," she added, but he had already gone.

Chris crossed the underground parking lot quickly. He had just unlocked his car door when a hand clamped down on his shoulder.

"Chris?"

The startled detective leaned heavily against his car but refused to turn around.

"We need to talk." Harry watched the young man rest his head on his arms. The hostility and confusion brought on by today's events were evident in his tense posture. "I have something for you. It might help Rita."

Chris raised his head and looked back over his shoulder at the Captain. The badge and gun which had been taken away just a few short hours ago were now offered to him.

"I don't understand."

"I tried to warn you today, Chris, but you weren't listening. You need a deft touch to deal with these guys."

"You heard what they said," Chris accused roughly, head held high. "How was I supposed to stand there and listen to those lies?"

"We don't have time to go over all that now," Harry said, "but one day we will. Right now, we need to find Rita."

Both men looked up as footsteps echoed loudly in the cement structure. Harry pointed toward a dark shadowy spot against the wall, and Chris followed him there.

"Take these," Harry ordered, holding out the badge and gun again.

Chris did as he was told. "I thought I was suspended."

The Captain shook his head softly. "I would have explained it all to you sooner if I could have located you. By pretending to suspend you, I not only got those guys off our backs, but I also managed to convince them I could be trusted. I've been assured that Ferguson will drop the matter, and now we can carry on our investigation on this end."

As understanding slowly sank in, Chris began to appreciate all that the Captain had done.

"Harry?"

Both men looked up at the sound of George's voice.

"Over here, George." Harry stepped out of the shadows and motioned for the nervous man to follow him. Glancing quickly at Chris, he admitted with a shrug, "I asked him to try and come up with something on Martel. The guy had to be connected to someone big if he inspired a hit in such a public place."

"Hey, Lorenzo! Any news yet?" George Donovan, Assistant DA for the City of Palm Beach, looked awkward and uncomfortable in his role as an informant for the good guys. He kept looking around the garage as they huddled against the far wall.

"Nothing yet," Chris admitted. "Did you find out anything new about our victim?"

"Sure did. It seems that Martel was cut off from his father financially several years ago because of his lifestyle. The guy could spend money like water."

"And?" Chris urged him on, impatiently.

George was really getting into his story now. "Well, during the time he was cut off from the family fortune, he found money from another source."

"Who?"

"That I haven't been able to find out yet. But whoever it was had Martel by the balls for years. When Daddy finally took him back, it was too late. He was already in hock up to his ears, and he drained the company in his efforts to climb out of his hole."

Harry shook his head in disgust. There were way too many spoiled rich people in the city of Palm Beach. They continued to amaze him on a daily basis. "Must have been a hell of a hole."

"We need to find out who he was working for," Chris said sharply, his patience thinning as each minute passed with no new leads. He paused before continuing as a sudden thought popped into his head. He snapped his fingers, and called out, "I might know of someone who can help us." Sprinting back to his car, he opened the driver's side door and turned back to the two men staring at him curiously. "I'll call you if this pans out."

Captain Lipschitz tried to get a word in above the sound of Chris' engine. "Where are you going?"

Stepping on the gas, Chris backed out of the parking space, tires squealing, and yelled through the open window. "I'll call you!"

"What do you think he's up to?" George asked as Chris' car disappeared from view.

Harry shrugged his shoulders, "I'm not sure, George. There's only one guy I can think of that could help, but he disappeared from Palm Beach a few years ago."

George's eyes widened, "Oh no, you don't mean..."

"It's the first name that comes to mind."

Side by side, both men walked back towards the PBPD building, each intent on following up a few more inquiries on the case before going home. No one would be sleeping easy tonight with Rita still missing.

* * *

….

It was only six o'clock in the evening, but night had fallen and Rita was still out there somewhere, in need of his help. As he sped across town, Chris couldn't resist dialing his partner's cell phone number again. He didn't expect an answer, but the ringing made him feel closer to her somehow. He was a little thrown off when the automatic message center came on. Rita's clear professional voice informed him that she wasn't there to answer the call but to leave a message. Affected deeply by the sound of her voice, he couldn't compose himself in time to talk coherently and the call disconnected itself. Chris glanced around wildly and pulled over to the side of the road as soon as it was safe. Throwing the car into park, he frantically dialed her number again.

_"This is Sergeant Rita Lance of the Palm Beach Police Department. I am unable to take your call right now. If this is an emergency, please dial 911. If you'd like to leave a message, I'll get back to you as soon as possible. Just wait for the sound of the beep before speaking." _

Chris was better prepared this time. With two hands clutching the phone like a lifeline, his eyes stared straight ahead, unseeing. He forced himself to speak slowly and calmly.

"Sam? It's me. I'm not sure what happened today, but you know I'm out here looking for you. Stay safe."

Ending the call before his voice broke, Chris blinked rapidly and took a few deep breaths as he sat on the side of the road. He couldn't afford to waste time. He couldn't afford to give in to the terror and the fear that was waiting to be dealt with. Pulling back out into traffic, he continued on to his destination.

A few minutes later, he arrived at Dream Girls, the night club once owned by Donnie "Dogs" DiBarto. After a rocky first meeting, the homicide team of Lance and Lorenzo had at one time depended heavily on the soft-hearted mobster for inside information. Donnie had taken an instant liking to Rita, and despite her protests, the feeling had been mutual. Over time, even Chris had come to appreciate the unique friendship of such an interesting man.

Old memories confronted Chris the minute he walked inside. It was impossible to contain a reluctant smile. Business was slow this early in the evening with only a few patrons scattered in the audience to appreciate the young girl slithering around the pole on stage. Chris made a beeline for the bar.

"Cotton!" he called out, getting the attention of the personable con artist, "I need to talk to DiBarto."

Cotton smiled a warm greeting but held up his hands in a gesture of innocence, "Chris... buddy, you know Donnie has been 'out of town' for months now. Nobody knows where he is." He sent Chris a curious glance.

"I don't have time for this Cotton," Chris said impatiently. Sitting down on one of the bar stools, he propped his elbows on the counter and buried his head in his hands for a moment. When he looked back up, his eyes were bleak. "Tell your boss that I need his help right away. I'm desperate."

Cotton stopped drying the glass he held in his hand and filled it from the tap. Setting the beer down in front of Chris, he leaned on the bar, chin in hand, and watched his friend. "What's wrong, kid?"

"Rita has disappeared, Cotton. She's been taken. I don't know how, and I don't know by who, but if I don't get to her quick..." Chris' voice trailed off, his mind unable to continue the thought.

"Are you sure about all this?" Cotton asked, even though he could read the answer in the younger man's eyes. "Maybe there's just some kind of mix up. Maybe it's not as serious as you think."

Chris took a drink before answering. "We stumbled into something big today," he said quietly. His thoughts once again went over each step of the investigation at the crime scene, trying to remember something that would help. "That's why I need to talk to DiBarto. I need an inside track on this before something happens to Rita. I've already lost a few hours, and I'm not sure how many more I have."

Exhaling slowly, Cotton tried to decide what to do. He was under strict instructions to never, ever, contact Mr. DiBarto from the club. After that little bit of trouble a few years ago, Donnie had decided to lay low for a while and spend more time with his family. All ties to the Palm Beach area had supposedly been severed. Only Cotton and a few others knew that the club had never been sold, just transferred to another member of the family for safekeeping. Despite the lack of recent contact between the detectives and DiBarto, Cotton had a feeling that Donnie would want to be informed about this recent event and would try help if he could. Unfortunately, he couldn't tell all this to Chris, because then Chris would find out about his monthly meetings with DiBarto. If Donnie wanted Chris to know what was going on with him, then Donnie would have to be the one to explain it.

"Listen, Chris," Cotton said sympathetically, "I don't know if I can help you here, but I'll do my best. I'll ask around. Maybe somebody on the streets will know how to get a hold of him."

Disappointed, Chris stood up to leave and patted Cotton's arm. "I had to try, Cotton. The official channels are closed to us. I appreciate any help you can give me."

Cotton watched his young friend walk away. As soon as the door closed behind him, he turned to pick up the phone. The call was answered on the first ring.

"Hey, Boss." He cringed at the lecture that started immediately. "I know, I know, but something has come up that I think you should know about..."

….

Running a hand over his tired eyes, Chris locked his car and walked into the large brick apartment building. He had exhausted all possible leads over the last hour and a half. None of his usual contacts had any information about the shooting at the bus station. As far as he now knew, whoever was holding Rita (and he had to believe she was still alive for the sake of his own sanity), was not someone they had dealt with in the past. Exhausted and frustrated, there was nothing left to do but return to the loft and make a few calls. Hopefully, Cap would have an update from the DEA.

As he approached the front door to his apartment, Chris heard voices from within. Any hope that one of the voices might possibly be Rita's was dashed quickly. Both voices were male. Drawing his gun, Chris' free hand closed around the doorknob, and turned it slowly. Realizing that the door was unlocked, he pushed it open forcefully and stepped inside, weapon raised. His jaw dropped at the sight of Donnie "Dogs" DiBarto sitting on his couch with his dog Dutchie in his lap. Looking to the side, he spotted Cotton struggling with the coffee maker in the kitchen area.

Disappointment, shock, exhaustion, and annoyance all collided at once, making Chris lash out at the two men smiling his way.

"How the hell did you two get in here?"

"Cool your jets, hotshot," Donnie cut in as he stood up and walked over to Chris. "You and your partner are in some big-time trouble."

Any comment Chris was about to make was lost as Harry knocked on the door frame behind him. All eyes were focused on the Captain in surprise. Pulling up to the building just a few seconds after Chris, he had heard everything that was said as he stood in the open doorway. Closing the front door behind him now, he walked toward the center of the room.

"I was afraid of this," he mumbled. "What rock did you just crawl out from, DiBarto?"

Donnie refused to be goaded into an argument. "Nice to see you too, Harry," he responded warmly. "Shall we get down to business, gentlemen?" Waving a hand to indicate the bar stools, he led the way to their makeshift conference table.

Harry threw Chris a questioning glance, but Chris just shrugged and followed Donnie. Sitting on a stool next to Chris, Harry tried not to frown as Cotton set a coffee cup in front of him. He watched the con man suspiciously, but his attention was back on Cotton's boss as Donnie started talking.

"You guys obviously know all about Martel."

"He was our DB in the bus depot," Chris confirmed quickly. "Do you know who he was working with?"

Donnie scratched Dutchie behind the ears and paused before answering. "There's an old Italian saying used to wish someone good luck."

Harry shook his head impatiently. "What the hell does that have to do with anything, DiBarto?"

"Please, Harry," Donnie said quietly, holding a hand up, "this may not seem important now, but it helps to explain who we're dealing with."

Harry sighed and waved him on, "Okay, okay, spit it out."

"What is the saying, Donnie?" Chris asked quietly.

"In bocca al lupo. Translated it means 'into the mouth of the wolf'."

Harry couldn't resist mumbling, "Doesn't sound like good luck to me."

"Well, to Vincent Adessso, wolves bring him not only luck but invincibility also. He's the head of a very small but powerful syndicate whose territory covers about half of the Eastern seaboard."

"Why haven't we heard of this guy?" Harry snapped.

"Believe me," Donnie said with a smile, "he's well known to the Feds. He's not into the pleasures of the flesh, like so many of these other jabeeps. He imports and resells. That's all."

"Is he the one that the DEA wants?" Chris asked.

"My sources tell me that the DEA has been trying to trap the wolf for over five years, but they haven't been able to come up with anything on the guy. He's like a piece of fine Venetian glass, everything just slides right off."

Harry looked over at Donnie, disgusted. "Oh, please, spare us the fancy analogies."

"Anyway, like I was saying," Donnie continued with a small indulgent smile. He and Harry understood each other well. "Word is, this guy is untouchable, and from what I've been able to find out, I think he's the one holding Rita."

Chris jumped off his bar stool. "Let's go. What are we waiting for?"

The other three men looked away. Cotton went to get the coffee pot for refills and Donnie stared blankly at the wall across from him. Only Harry found the nerve to meet Chris' eyes.

"It's not that easy," Harry explained, rubbing the knot of tension on the back of his neck. "We just can't barge in and ask for Rita. You know that. She'd be dead before we got a foot in the door."

Chris glanced from one friend to the next. "There has to be a way to get to her. Where does this guy live?"

"I'm checking on that now, Lorenzo," Donnie assured him. "I made a dozen phone calls while we were waiting for you. Right now, all we can do is sit tight here until we get more information."

Chris read the sincerity in Donnie's eyes and sat back down in defeat. What had he just been about ready to do? Could years of training just fly out the window that easily? He knew better. Each one of them, in their own way, were doing everything they could. As difficult as it was, he would have to remain patient.

"I'm going to go change," he said quietly. He needed a minute alone to try and collect himself.

Three pairs of eyes watched Chris walk away. There was silence until he disappeared upstairs.

"What do you think her chances are?" Harry asked.

Donnie shook his head sadly.

Harry stared at his hands for a few seconds before asking, "Did you hear that they're engaged now?" He heard a sharp intake of breath in response to his quiet words.

"When did that happen?"

Harry pursed his lips and spoke slowly when he finally looked up. "A few weeks ago. On New Year's Eve to be exact." Anyone peering into the room would assume they were two old friends talking over good times instead of long-time combatants in an age-old war of ideals.

Leaning back, looking deceptively relaxed, Donnie smiled with satisfaction. He always thought those two should be together. Not that Lorenzo deserved her. But if Hot Shot made Rita happy, he was on their side.

Love...it was a wonderful thing. He mumbled a few affectionate words to Dutchie and scratched the small dog under his chin. "I guess I couldn't expect Rita to wait for me forever, eh Harry?" The smile fell away and Donnie met the Captain's eyes. "I've done all I can, I hope you believe that. Adesso is one mean bastard when he's crossed, and Martel was trying to put the screws to him. Almost got away with it, too."

"DEA won't even tell us what the evidence was," Harry admitted, hating to expose the flaws in a system he had always believed in. It was difficult to ask the stay puff don for information, but the stakes in this game were tragically high. "Do you know what was in the briefcase, DiBarto?"

Donnie leaned forward, leery of speaking the words too loudly even in this private residence. Jabbing the air with a finger to highlight his words, he whispered, "Worldwide bank records for Adesso's syndicate listing account numbers, dates, and transactions for the last ten years."

Whistling softly, Harry leaned back again, the sick knot in his stomach tightening even further.

"Worldwide?"

The older men looked up at Chris as he came down the stairs.

"All over the world, Lorenzo," Donnie confirmed, nodding his head. "Martel was tired of laundering money for Adesso, so he took off with the list and was trying to ransom it back. He probably planned to leave the country once he got the payoff. You'd think these guys would know better. Vincent Adesso is as cunning as his nickname suggests, and he is not one to pay for something he already owns. From what I've heard, there are no former employees of the wolf."

Chris looked at him in confusion, not sure what Donnie meant by his last comment.

Harry spoke the dreaded words in a hollow voice. "They're all dead. Sounds like the man doesn't believe in leaving unfinished business."

Cotton, who had remained quiet all this time, met Chris' eyes. His usual smile was nowhere to be seen.

"There's a first time for everything," Chris said with determination.

Harry stood up to leave. "I'm going back to the station. I'll keep on top of things from there. Maybe I can dig up some information now that we know who we're dealing with." He squeezed Chris' shoulder as he walked past him. "Call if you hear back with something we can use."

Chris followed the Captain to the door.

Harry turned to him as he stepped into the hallway. "We'll find her, Chris."

Chris met Harry's eyes and nodded, but couldn't sum up the inner strength to smile. "I know we will. We have to." He watched his boss and mentor walk away with sinking spirits. He glanced at his watch. It was almost eight.

**End of Chapter One**

Questions? Comments? Complaints?

Feedback by PM or Review always appreciated.

Classic Moments 1998


	2. Chapter 2

Author's Notes: Final chapter. Angst is often followed by mature content and themes. Quite a bit of angst in this one. Enough said.

**INTO THE MOUTH OF THE WOLF**

**_in bocca al lupo_**

Chapter Two

8:00 p.m. – Adesso Mansion _(the Wolf's lair)_

Entering the large formal dining room, Rita stayed a few steps ahead of an angry Carlo.

"I'm so glad you could join me for dinner, Sergeant Lance." Vincent Adesso stood up as the attractive detective walked over to the table. He nodded at his employee, forcing the stormy-eyed henchman to pull back the chair next to his boss and wait for Rita to be seated. It was a lesson in patience for Carlo. Vincent demanded civility and decorum in his home. There would be no exceptions. He took a moment to admire the woman next to him as she made herself comfortable. Still dressed in a white silk blouse, tucked into a navy skirt, her patterned vest made the most of her delicate curves. She had managed to gain some control over her casual hairstyle, and the only imperfection to be found was the bruise on her left cheek. Critical eyes sought out Carlo, and he dismissed the sullen man, directing him to wait outside the dining-room door. He turned back to his dinner companion.

"Tell me, Rita," Vincent, asked politely, as he laid a cloth napkin across his lap, "why did you decide to go into law enforcement? The hours are lousy, the pay is an embarrassment, and you get no respect for your efforts. An intelligent woman like yourself must have had many other career choices. Especially with your assets. Why sell yourself short?"

Surprised at his choice of topics and the use of her first name, Rita forced herself to remain patient as the intense brown gaze swept over her. Why was she seated here in his dining room about to share a meal with the secretive man? Why hadn't he just killed her and saved himself the trouble? What exactly did Vincent Adesso want from her? She made a quick decision to tread carefully, but not back down. For whatever reason, he seemed to appreciate or find humor in her aggressive attitude.

"I haven't sold myself short," she finally answered. "I enjoy my work, and I like to think that what I do makes a difference. Maybe I should be asking you the same question. You obviously have so much. Why are you holding me here against my will?" She stared curiously at the man next to her, trying to turn the tables on him. It would help to find out if he had a weak spot.

"Look around you, Sergeant. Does this look like the home of a man who has sold himself short?"

Rita glanced at their rich surroundings. From the massive crystal chandelier to the Italian marble-topped server, each furnishing was exquisite and unique. Obviously, no expense had been spared. "What exactly did you say your organization does?"

Vincent poured two glasses of wine. He sat back as a waiter came into the room and served soup from a tureen on the table in front of them. The waiter bowed and quickly disappeared.

Her host motioned for her to begin, so Rita picked up her glass. She paused as he prepared to make a toast.

Vincent held his crystal goblet up to the light for a moment before turning to Rita. His stare never wavered as his eyes narrowed into dark slits. Touching his glass to hers, he whispered. "_In bocca al lupo_."

Rita's blood chilled as Vincent repeated the same phrase that Carlo had whispered to her earlier in the day. "And what would the proper response be?" she questioned quietly.

"There can be no response to the wolf," he taunted, leaning closer to his guest. He smiled at her discomfort and retreated to sip his wine. "Please...eat. Your soup will get cold."

"Before I do, Mr. Adesso, I'd appreciate an answer to my question."

"You are certainly determined, my dear." Vincent smiled and touched his napkin to his lips. "I am in the import business."

Rita knew immediately what he meant and couldn't stop the word from slipping out. "Drugs." For all his wealth and pretensions, Vincent Adesso was no better than a street corner pusher. It was just a matter of geography.

"If that is what the customer wants, then yes, drugs."

Too many hours spent volunteering in local outreach programs prevented Rita from being able to hide her disgust. Her appetite gone; she pushed her chair back from the table. "You sit here acting like a cultured gentleman, and yet you're killing people every day with the poison you put out on the streets. How do you sleep at night?"

"Rita, t_esoro_, you are basing your question on an incorrect assumption."

"And what would that be?"

"You are assuming that I have a conscience," he laughed, "when the truth of the matter is, I don't."

"How can you say that?" Rita argued. "I've seen you with your son. You obviously love him very much." She spoke from the heart on a subject of such importance to her, momentarily forgetting how vulnerable her current position was. "How many other loving fathers have lost their sons to your customers?"

Vincent leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table; his hands clasped together tightly. His voice was cold and emotionless when he spoke. "Make no mistake about this - my son is everything to me, Sergeant Lance. I will kill anyone who harms him without blinking an eye, and this includes you. The rest of the world and their weaknesses, well, that is another story. They are nothing more than a source of income to me and my family." He leaned back, watching Rita closely. She was now deciding how to use his affection for his son against him. He was disappointed. Somehow, he had expected more from her. "I think we are done talking for now."

"Carlo!" he called out without taking his eyes from her. "Return Sergeant Lance to her room."

Carlo entered the room quickly, more than happy to get this woman away from his boss. He didn't like the special attention _Signore Adesso_ was affording her. The woman was trouble. That much he had recognized from the minute he pushed her into the back seat of his car. With any luck, the order to dispose of her would be given soon. He looked forward to it. Smiling, he trudged up the stairs behind her and followed her down the hallway to the room where she was to be kept. Thoughts of the pleasure he would have torturing her kept him just distracted enough to be surprised when an elbow shot back into his stomach. Automatically doubling over from the sharp blow, he was too slow to protect himself when she spun around and kicked him in the same spot. Within a matter of seconds, he found himself on the ground, struggling to rise.

"I'm looking at a dead cop!" he raged with what little breath he could manage. His attempt at cruel laughter came out sounding more like a groan. Leaning heavily against the wall, Carlo managed to get back on his feet fairly quickly, and continued to advance on her even though he was hunched over. "He'll hunt you down like a dog!" he spat out.

"It's a pity you won't be awake to see it," Rita threw in just before she hit him with a solid right. As Carlo fell backward, his head struck the door frame to the room, and he slumped to the floor unconscious.

Rita rubbed her throbbing knuckles and tried to ignore the pain caused by the impact with his jaw. Bending over the unconscious man, she quickly checked his pulse. Faint but steady. She searched him for a weapon, but he wasn't carrying and there was no time to get hers from the downstairs study. He was too heavy to drag into the bedroom, so she stepped over the two-bit thug and headed straight for the stairs.

Her heart pounded loudly in her chest as she slipped off her shoes and waited to see if anyone had been disturbed by the noise. As soon as the ground floor hallway was empty, she quickly descended the stairs, keeping close to the wall until she reached the entryway. Instead of using the front entrance which was just a few feet away from her, and surely under surveillance, Rita made her way carefully through the darkened house looking for a back door. Voices could be heard talking loudly in the dining room as Vincent finished his meal with an unseen companion. The smell of baking bread guided her to the kitchen. She slipped her shoes back on and straightened her clothing before pushing the door open.

Rita was forced to squint as she walked into the brightly lit room. Planting a smile on her face she casually acknowledged the white-haired woman working there. Here in the kitchen of a cold-blooded killer and drug lord, she found the perfect vision of an elderly Italian grandmother. She had to remind herself that she couldn't afford to be distracted with freedom beckoning from just outside the house. All she had to do was look like she belonged there and cross to the door on the other side.

_"Signorina?_" the woman spoke up. _"Cosa vuoi?"_

"Miss," the woman dusted off her flour-covered hands and tried again in heavily accented English. "Can I help you? Are you hungry?"

Rita's hand closed around the doorknob. "No," she assured her, "I'm just on my way out."

"You no like the front door?"

Carlo could be regaining consciousness, or even worse, his body could be discovered in the upstairs hallway at any moment. Rita had to get as far away as possible from the house before that happened. She mumbled her excuses, trying to placate the woman and buy herself a little bit more time.

The confused cook smiled at the pleasant young woman and watched her curiously as she slipped out the back door. Many strange things happened in _Signore Adesso's_ home. It was none of her business. Humming softly, she turned back to her baking.

* * *

….

Chris paced the floor of his apartment. The facts were coming together but not fast enough. Through Donnie's contacts, they now knew that Martel had definitely tried to ransom the list back to Adesso. Their little transaction would have taken place unnoticed by the police if Vincent Adesso had actually decided to pay for the return of his bank records. Adesso's order for retribution against his former associate had been immediate, and the hit had taken place, but the key to Vincent's secrets had fallen unseen onto the restroom floor. The shooter would have gone home empty-handed if the detectives hadn't led him right to the prize. Chris searched his memories of the crowd around the restroom earlier in the day. If only he had kept the list with him instead of letting Rita take it. This was all his fault. Their guy must have been part of the throng milling around the crime scene in clear view of their every move. He shouldn't have suggested they separate.

"Hey, Lorenzo," Donnie interrupted the tortured detective's thoughts. "Dutchie and me are going to drop in on a few people that might be able to help us. I could just call them, but it's better if I do this face to face, so they know I'm serious."

"I'm going with you," Chris said quickly, reaching for his jacket.

Donnie "Dogs" DiBarto, one-time mobster and New York high roller, walked up to Chris and tapped his chest lightly with two fingers, "No you're not, kid. Don't gamble Rita's life away with your impulsiveness. Stay here." Turning to Cotton he instructed, "I gotta go track down a few connections. Keep an eye on him."

"Absolutely," Cotton assured his boss.

Chris was standing over at the window now, leaning his forehead against the glass. "Where are you, Sam?" The quiet whisper escaped into the dark night. He hadn't expected an answer, but the silence saddened him even further anyway.

"Chris?" Cotton called to him, unsure what he could do or say to help. "Listen to me. Why don't you go upstairs and get some sleep? You need to be rested when Donnie gets the word."

"I can't, Cotton." The chill of the window pane beneath his forehead matched the cold fear in his heart.

"Come on, Chris, just try for a few hours. If the phone rings you know it will wake you. You won't be missing anything."

Chris shook his head and stayed where he was. He couldn't tear his eyes away from the street knowing that she was out there somewhere. "I'm not going up to that bed without her, Cotton. It wouldn't be right." He turned to look at his friend, and held up his hands as if about to explain, but couldn't find the words he needed. The empty hands fell back down to his sides.

"Oh, buddy, you've got it bad."

"I've never had it so good," Chris whispered against the glass.

Cotton didn't catch Chris' comments. He walked over to his friend and pulled him away from the window as he continued talking. "I always thought you two should get together, you know, but I never imagined anything like this happening. You have to remember that Rita can take care of herself, Chris. You know she can." He led Chris over to the couch and made him stretch out in the hopes that he would eventually shut his eyes and fall asleep. Expert con man that he was, Cotton had plenty of acquaintances, but very few people that he could honestly call a friend. Over the years he and Chris had developed a bond that made both of their lives a little more interesting. While not as close to Rita as he was to Chris, he'd move heaven and earth to find the missing detective for his buddy. He knew how much she meant to him.

Chris gave in to Cotton's fussing. As he lay staring at the ceiling, he pictured Rita in his mind. She was wearing the beautiful beaded navy-blue dress again, his tuxedo jacket resting on her shoulders as she sat on the garden bench outside the hotel ballroom on New Year's Eve. He could still recall the way she had looked at him as he held the emerald ring in his hand. As long as he lived, he'd never forget her face at that moment. Her faith, her love, and her trust in him were complete. He saw it in her eyes...she had to be okay. She just had to be.

* * *

….

Vincent's house was set back on a lot several acres deep, and it took almost half an hour for Rita to get off of the grounds unnoticed. Luckily, there were plenty of trees and bushes to hide behind, and even luckier still, the guards weren't using dogs as they walked their rounds. Each time they passed her, she had to find a hiding place and wait silently, praying they wouldn't spot her. Patience and persistence eventually paid off, and Rita easily, if not quite gracefully, scaled the wrought iron fence to freedom. Keeping out of the glare of the streetlights, she set a face pace walking along the side of the road. As determined as she was to ignore the protests of her tired body, inevitably, lack of food and too much stress, combined with physical exertion finally took their toll and she had to slow down. Slowing down did not mean stopping, however, and Rita continued to try and put as much distance as possible between herself and the mansion.

* * *

….

Cotton looked up as his boss came in through the front door.

"Where's the kid?"

"He's upstairs," Cotton reported. "He couldn't sleep, so I suggested a shower. Thought it might help him relax. Did you find out anything?"

"I got an address."

"That's great, boss!" Cotton grinned at the news. "Are we gonna go check it out?"

"I sent Vito and Anthony over there in my car with a phony message for Adesso. Maybe if they get a foot in the door, we can find out if she's still alive."

Cotton looked shocked. He hadn't seriously considered the fact that she might not be. "Do you want me to go up and tell Chris?"

"No, let's wait until they call in. I have a few errands I want you to take care of, and I don't want to get his hopes up yet."

* * *

….

Rita neared the corner of what seemed like the longest block she had ever walked in her life. As tempted as she was to go up to one of the houses she was passing and knock on the door, her first instinct was to try and get further away. There was no telling who could be hidden behind the gates of these multi-million-dollar mansions. Afraid of stopping and being too tired to go on, Rita kept moving forward unaware of the large black car cruising up the street without headlights. Her senses were dulled by hunger and fatigue.

The shiny black Lincoln Town car pulled slightly ahead of her, and the back door shot open. A dark figure stepped out and pulled her into the vehicle before she had time to protest. The car immediately picked up speed. Rita was determined to go down fighting this time and put every ounce of energy she had left into striking out at the man who held her next to him on the back seat. She had no intention of returning quietly to Vincent Adesso's house.

"Sergeant Lance!" The large man dressed in black tried to protect himself from the flying fists. He had been instructed to handle with care if they were lucky enough to find her. Too bad Adesso's escapee hadn't been given the same lecture. Just as he managed to pin both of her arms down, he gasped in pain and doubled over to protect his groin from further contact with her knee. As the struggling woman reached for the door handle of the moving vehicle, he managed to identify himself. "I've been sent by Mr. DiBarto, Sergeant Lance."

Rita froze with her hand resting on the door lock and turned to the groaning passenger. "What did you say?"

"I've been sent by Mr. DiBarto. Vito and I were on our way to the Adesso house when we spotted you on the street." Taking a deep breath, he managed to smile sympathetically at the woman as she leaned back in the seat and eyed him suspiciously. "We've been instructed to take you to a safe house."

"How did Donnie know where I was?"

He handed her a cell phone. "You can ask him yourself. He said you might not believe me, so you're to call him at Sergeant Lorenzo's apartment."

"Chris..." Rita breathed her partner's name and dialed the number quickly.

* * *

….

Donnie hung up the phone with a firm satisfying click. Step one, getting Rita back, was now complete, but they still had a difficult road ahead of them. Should Vincent Adesso discover his interference in this matter, he would not appreciate it.

Chris came bounding down the stairs a few minutes later, fresh out of the shower, towel drying his hair. Dressed in a pair of khaki pants and shirtless, he immediately asked, "Any news?"

Donnie, cell phone in hand, was in the process of dialing a number when he answered, "Yeah, Rita called. She's with my guys."

"What?!" Chris dropped the towel, crossed the room quickly, and grabbed the phone from Donnie. "Why didn't you yell for me? Is she all right? Damn it, Donnie! Where is she now?" He desperately needed to know that she was safe and unhurt. He desperately needed to hear her voice for himself.

"Slow down, Lorenzo," Donnie urged the angry young man. "Take a deep breath or something. You're gonna bust an artery or two if you aren't careful." He held out his hand and waited for the return of his cell. There were a few more calls that needed to be made to ensure Rita's safety.

Realizing his anger was misdirected, Chris returned the cellphone. He ran shaky hands over his freshly shaven face and took a deep breath as he struggled to get his emotions in check. When he finally looked back at Donnie, he was able to speak calmly.

"Are you sure she's okay?"

Donnie smiled at him sympathetically. "Yeah, kid, I'm sure she's okay. She was upset to find out that the DEA considers her a suspect, and she was disappointed that she didn't get to talk to you, but she did agree to let me make arrangements for a safe house." He held up a hand to stem the protests, "It has to be this way. You know that. She's a loose end now, and Adesso is not going to give up looking for her until he knows she's been taken care of. I told her you'd meet her there in fifteen minutes. My driver will be up here in a couple of minutes and he'll take you. As soon as Cotton returns from the errand I sent him on, we'll follow you over. I'll call Harry after you leave and maybe if we all put our heads together, we can figure a way out of this mess."

Chris pulled on a turtle neck. "What's the address, Donnie?"

"I told you, Vito will drive you. You can't take the chance of being followed in that monstrosity you call a vehicle."

"Give me the address, DiBarto," Chris snapped as he tied his shoes. "I can get there on my own, and without being followed."

Donnie met his stare for a minute before deciding to back down. As he picked up a note pad and wrote out the street address, he issued a final warning, "Make sure they don't spot you. These people know what they're doing, and they have a lot at stake."

Chris still looked defiant as he headed for the door. He opened it, turned back and nodded, "So, do I, Donnie." A split second later the door had closed behind him.

….

The address Chris had been given was in a quiet residential neighborhood not too far from the PBPD. After driving by once, he parked several blocks away and approached the house on foot. No lights appeared to be on inside. He made his way cautiously up the dark walkway, his hand on his gun as he nodded to Donnie's man, a mysterious figure barely visible against the side of the garage.

Chris stood on the porch holding his breath, his eyes closed in silent prayer as he knocked softly and waited for a response.

"Chris?"

He was able to start existing again. "Sam..." The lock turned.

The front door of the small one-story house opened, and Chris slipped into the blackness of the living room, closing the door silently behind him.

Without hesitation, he reached for Rita, hugging her tightly, lifting her from the ground as he took her in his arms and moved further into the room. Neither one spoke as they clung desperately to each other, grateful and relieved to be back together where they belonged.

When Chris was finally able to let go, he set her back on her feet and searched her eyes for the truth of her condition. "Are you sure you're okay?" he asked, again and again, needing to hear the affirmation directly from her.

Rita's gaze locked with his, and he saw her exhaustion, but also her undiminished strength of spirit as she smiled and nodded. As soon as he touched her cheek, her lips turned into his open palm and he understood what she needed. He pulled her closer again, tightening his hold as her head came to rest on his shoulder. There were so many questions waiting to be asked, but right now all he could think about was how close he had come to losing her. The next several minutes were spent just holding her in his arms. Rita was still in danger and the only way out of the situation was to stay calm and be smarter than their opponent.

Staying calm was easier said than done as his hands skimmed lightly over her body seeking physical evidence, the final confirmation that she was safe and unharmed. He froze as he discovered her torn nylons. The skin beneath them was scraped and rough; silent legacies of her hasty fight to freedom.

"You're hurt," he mumbled against her hair.

Rita ignored him and linked her hands behind his head. Before he could say another word, she was kissing his face, her hands running through his hair. She quickly found his lips and the kiss became intense and demanding, as if she too, needed physical proof that she was truly alive and safe. It was with great reluctance that he took hold of her upper arms and forced himself to pull back, turning away from the longing in her eyes.

"Where is the bathroom?" he asked, roughly.

Rita pointed him in the right direction and quickened her steps to keep up as he pulled her down the hallway. Once inside the small room, Chris turned on the light and crouched down to push her skirt aside. She heard his sharp intake of breath as he examined the dark purple bruise on her right thigh. The top layer of skin had been scraped by the wrought iron fence.

With everything that had happened since her escape, she hadn't noticed it herself. Fortunately, none of the tiny cuts looked deep. His hands were gentle as he pulled the torn nylons away from her leg and helped her step out of them. He pressed a warm, damp, towel to the injured area.

It was difficult to believe that it was still Sunday; a day that had started off so wonderfully. The events of the last few hours began to seem like part of a bad dream to her. "Sam?"

Chris' eyes flew up to her face. It was the first word out of her mouth since he had entered the house and the sound of the treasured nickname shot right through him. Standing again, he held her gaze and took her into his arms. "I was so worried that we wouldn't get to you in time," he confessed. His hands were unsteady as they brushed the hair away from her face.

"I know...I know," Rita whispered. She tilted her head to the side and closed her eyes as he kissed her neck, eventually moving to her throat. Without conscious thought, she began unbuttoning her vest; her desire for her fiancé overriding caution. When his hands covered hers, wanting to take over the task, she gladly let him and took hold of his waist, her fingers sliding under the soft material of his turtleneck.

They both realized what they were doing at the same moment. Hiding in this strange house, they weren't out of danger yet. Rita's hands, which had been gripping his back, relaxed and she rested a flushed cheek against his chest, slowly exhaling as Chris held her tight and stroked her hair. Passion receded as the harsh reality of their situation returned.

"What's this?" he eventually asked, tipping her chin up to him. His fingers passed lightly over the dark spot on her cheek.

"Nothing important. Did you come alone?"

She sounded tired, but her voice was steady now.

"Yes, but Cap, Donnie, and Cotton will be here soon," he promised. "We need to figure out how to get the DEA and Adesso together, so we can get them both of them off our backs." He planted a kiss firmly on her hair and held her hand tightly as they left the bathroom to explore the rest of the house. Looking over his shoulder at his rumpled partner, he grinned. With her mussed-up hair, wrinkled clothes, and smudged cheek, he had never seen a more beautiful sight. Love was too simple a word.

"What?" Despite the dark hallway, Rita spotted the smile on his face.

Chris cleared his throat and tried to get his mind back on the business at hand. They had to stay focused. "Have you checked out the house yet?" he asked, ignoring her question.

She watched him curiously. "No," she admitted. "So much has happened so fast, I couldn't think straight. I've been pacing the living room, waiting for you to get here."

Her partner nodded in understanding. "Who do you think lives here?" he asked, trying to keep the conversation light. "If we're lucky, it might be one of Donnie's girlfriends. We need to find warmer clothes for you to change into." His eyes automatically returned to the unbuttoned vest over her white silk blouse.

The place was nicely furnished, Chris noted as he forced his thoughts back to their surroundings. God only knew what Donnie was doing with a cozy little house like this in a quiet Palm Beach neighborhood. It certainly didn't seem his style, but there was no figuring that guy out sometimes. He led Rita into one of the bedrooms. The sliding mirrored doors of the closet opened easily to reveal a large assortment of women's clothing. She quickly found a pair of leggings and a thick sweatshirt to borrow. The pant legs would have to be rolled up, but at least she would be warmer and more comfortable.

"I'll check the windows and door in front," he said as Rita started undressing in the small room. He saw the surprised look on her face as he turned to leave, but he needed to make sure that Donnie's place was as secure as possible before letting his guard down. The gut-wrenching fear that had been with him since her disappearance was beginning to fade, but he was still caught in its grip and struggling with emotions that were raw and difficult to control. Unfortunately, there was no time to deal with them yet.

"I'll be right back," he promised.

Rita turned away and let her blouse slip off of her shoulders. "Okay," she answered without looking at him.

Chris had just stepped into the hallway when the need to look back overrode his good intentions. His fiancée was still turned away from him, standing alone at the far side of the bed in just a few small scraps of lingerie. It wasn't often that he thought of her as vulnerable when it came to the job. As she raised her arms to slip the dark blue sweatshirt over her head, he swore out loud, "Oh, the hell with it!" and rushed back to her.

He reached her just as her head popped through the neckline of the shirt. His hands settled lightly on either side of her waist and as soon as she turned around, his mouth sought hers, stealing the breath from her lungs.

"I can't..." he muttered again and again, as he gently cupped the side of her face, deepening the kiss as he kept her pinned against his body.

Rita gasped for air when his mouth finally released hers and moved to her throat. Her head fell backward as every nerve ending in her body reacted to his touch. His hands slid under the sweatshirt, caressing her skin. She was confused, aroused and nearly out of her mind as she tried to comprehend what he was chanting. He unfastened her bra, eliciting a soft, half-strangled sound from her. Those same confident hands moved quickly to cover her breasts, massaging the sensitized peaks with more ownership than care.

Her fingers pressed into the muscles of his arms, trying to draw him closer. This wasn't the time for gentility. She wanted him to claim his rights to her body with as much force as she planned to claim her rights to his.

"I can't walk away from you," he groaned as her hands wove into his hair. "Not now, not ever."

Impatience, need, and most of all, fear, got the best of them, and neither one could wait any longer. They were caught in a sea of passion. Chris fumbled with his slacks as he followed her down onto the mattress. An emotional dam burst making it impossible for them to slow down or pace themselves as their bodies came together with a violent passion.

Rita stiffened and sucked in her breath. _"Chris."_

Chris' entire world narrowed down to this small room and these precious few moments in time. He paused, afraid his desperation had harmed her in some way. He searched her wide-eyed expression with concern. How could one small woman be so strong and yet so fragile at the same time? "Are you okay?"

"Yes." Her voice was breathless and faint. Slowly, cautiously, she moved beneath him. Fear, uncertainty, and maybe even the wolf that waited just outside the door were momentarily set aside but not forgotten, driving them to find solace in the one irrefutable truth in their lives: their love for each other.

Not more than twenty minutes after Chris had first walked in through that front door, the passionate, emotional storm had peaked and settled into a calm, healing aftermath.

Despite her exhaustion, Rita's smile was mischievous as she propped herself up on an elbow and looked down at her partner. "You could have removed your gun..." she dared to tease.

Said partner grinned, eyes half-closed in satisfaction, but he remained silent; content to just stare at her and know she was really right there next to him, safe for the moment.

"Or your pants…" she continued, glancing over the side of the bed where his feet were hanging down. "Or even your shoes."

Chris'grin widened. "I apologize, Sam," he murmured contritely.

They shared a private smile, staring deep into each other's eyes.

"I guess I can forgive you this time..."

Her words were interrupted by a noise in the front of the house. Chris jumped up off the bed immediately, putting his clothes in order and drawing his weapon as he left the room. Rita grabbed the leggings and jerked them on quickly. Halfway to the door, she relaxed at the sound of Chris' voice as he greeted Donnie and the Captain.

It was an emotional reunion for all when Rita walked into the living room. Harry quickly went to her side. Trying to remain professional, he kept her at arm's length and fired a few probing questions at her until he was satisfied that she was unharmed. Unable to keep up the pretense any longer, he pulled her into a bear hug.

"You really had Lorenzo in a panic," Harry rasped as she hugged him back. "I wasn't worried, of course," he lied.

"I'm sorry, Cap." Rita grimaced as the hug tightened in direct contradiction to his words. When he finally let go and stepped back, Rita spotted Donnie for the first time. She hadn't seen him in almost two years, and in all that time he hadn't changed a bit. Even Dutchie looked as young as ever.

"Hey, Doll," Donnie said with a big grin. "If Lorenzo here ain't treatin' you right, you can always run away with me you know."

Rita walked over to where Donnie stood, and instead of answering him she kissed his cheek. "Thank you," she whispered simply. Turning to the small dog that starting licking her hand, she scratched him on the head. "Hey, Dutchie, where've you been these last two years? We missed you."

"Dutchie missed you, too," the embarrassed, but grinning, mobster muttered.

Chris interrupted the mutual lovefest. "Whose place is this, Donnie? It doesn't seem like your style at all."

Donnie winked at Rita, and leaned closer to whisper for her ears only, "I hear congratulations are in order."

Eyebrows raised, Rita looked at Donnie in surprise, but he had already turned to answer Chris.

"Belongs to my cousin's kid. She's visiting some relatives up North for a few weeks. It's good enough for our purposes."

"That it is," Chris agreed. "Have you found out anything new?"

"We have Adesso's address, and when Cotton gets here we should have the name of someone willing to let us into the inner circle with the Wolf."

Rita became agitated. The memory of cold brown eyes watching her was still too recent for comfort. Everyone else sat down at the small kitchen table, but Rita continued to pace the floor nervously. "I don't completely understand why we can't call the DEA in on this now. They can't still be after me. I don't have the list anymore, and I certainly don't have a few million dollars in my bank account."

Chris watched her with an understanding smile. She was doing that nervous thing with her hands again. It was an unconscious, rhythmic coming together of palm and fist, over and over again as she paced. Reaching out from where he sat, he caught her the next time she passed by, pulling her close and keeping her there with his arm around her waist. She rested a hand on his shoulder. He could feel the tension radiating off of her in waves.

"You didn't meet these two, Sam," he explained. "I'm not willing to let them get their hands on you until we have the Adesso situation all buttoned up. Ferguson and Ramirez think they have all the answers already, and unfortunately, they have the power to throw you into a bureaucratic hole so deep, it will take months of paperwork to get you cleared and back at work."

"They don't have anything," Rita argued.

Harry shook his head in disgust. "Sorry, Rita. Chris is right on this one. I'm a big believer is going through the proper channels, but even I realize that this is a no-win scenario if you turn yourself in. Let's see what we can do ourselves before they find out you escaped from Adesso."

Rita glanced from one sympathetic face to the next and finally nodded her head in agreement.

"Okay!" Donnie broke in, "First things, first. Chris, Rita. Vito will drive you to the next safe house."

Both detectives looked up in surprise.

Harry spoke up quickly. "DiBarto and I talked it over in the car. This house is too small, and there are too many civilians around. We can't take a chance like that with Adesso."

"God! I am getting sick of that man's name," Rita blurted out suddenly. Turning away from the table, she walked out of the room.

Chris made a move to follow her, but Harry stopped him.

"Listen, Chris," Harry urged, "this is important. Every move has to be planned out and executed perfectly."

Rita crossed her arms in front of herself as she walked through the living room. Deep in thought, she jumped when she felt a tap on her shoulder.

"Rita - sweetheart, are you okay?" Donnie frowned. She looked so lost. "Did Vincent Adesso hurt you in any way?" he asked gruffly. "Cause if he did..."

Turning to her friend, she kept up her self-protective stance but smiled softly. "I'm fine, Donnie. Really, I am."

Small dog in hand, Donnie, in typical Italian fashion, made big expansive gestures as he spoke, "I wish there was time for you to take a rest before you have to leave, but I don't think that's such a good idea."

Until that moment, Rita hadn't realized just how much she had missed this man's presence in their lives. "It's okay, Donnie," she consoled him, "I realize we have to keep moving. I got a good look at 'the wolf' today, and I know what he's capable of."

"You're sure he didn't touch you?" Donnie asked again.

"Who touched you?" Chris demanded as he entered the room at the tail end of Donnie's question. "Did this guy, Adesso, put his hands on you?" Anger flashed too quickly, finding an outlet for all the other emotions that hadn't been dealt with yet. Walking quickly to his partner's side, Chris forced her to turn and look at him. "Rita?" He caught the small grimace of pain that flashed across her face. His thumb had pressed against the sore spot on her cheek. He moved it away quickly. Heavy drapes covered the windows and only a small lamp in the corner was lit, making it difficult to get a good look at the discoloration on the side of her face.

"Chris, relax," she said calmly. "It's just a small bruise."

"How did it happen?" Harry asked.

Rita took a deep breath and answered her boss as if it were a routine question asked in his office on a routine day. "After I was handcuffed and blindfolded, Carlo, one of Adesso's men, knocked me unconscious."

An uncomfortable silence descended over the room.

Chris took hold of her upper arm and led her over to one side of the room, away from the others. Anger, not directed at his partner, but at himself and the men who had held her, poured out of him, and he whispered harshly, "What else haven't you told me? I want to know exactly what happened, and I want to know now." Confused green eyes stared back at him, and he knew by the look on her face that Rita had misunderstood the tone of his voice.

Controlling his emotions had never been one of Chris' strong suits, and today's events left him wishing he could be more like his partner in that respect. As unfair as his words might be, he couldn't seem to stop himself. Walking in that front door just a short time ago, he had been able to brush aside all the unanswered questions the minute his arms closed around Rita. But now, he needed to know what had happened at Adesso's house because his imagination was eating away at what little peace of mind he was trying to hold on to. Guilt over not being there to protect his partner, his fiancée, the woman he loved, warred with pure rage over the fact that someone had dared to lay a hand on her.

She was a detective by profession, not a saint, and Rita had hit her threshold of tolerance for one day. There were several ways she could have responded to his outburst, but she was just too damn tired. She had nothing left to give. It was about time he learned a better way to handle his fear. Disappointed green eyes, with just a suspicion of moisture in the corners, looked up at Chris. "You didn't exactly ask me a lot of questions when you arrived," she pointed out bluntly. "If you had, you might already have the answers you're looking for now." Turning away, she walked over to where the Captain and Donnie stood. "When do we leave?"

Both men glanced back and forth between the couple. Donnie finally spoke up. "Vito is in the driveway now. He'll take you when you're ready."

Rita looked back over her shoulder at Chris. "Let's go."

Chris nodded sullenly, planning to straighten everything out with her on the drive over to the new place. He owed her an apology and was just about to follow her to the back door when Donnie reached out and stopped him.

"Hey, Slick," Donnie snapped at the young detective, "don't they give you guys sensitivity training in that police academy of yours?"

"Back off, DiBarto," Chris warned without any real heat. He was already kicking himself for overreacting, he didn't need any help from anyone else. His only excuse, anger over his inability to protect her, sounded feeble even to him now.

Shrugging off Donnie's hand, Chris pushed past him and stepped outside.

Vito, Donnie's driver, stood on the far side of the car, holding the door open as Rita disappeared into the back seat. Satisfied that the dark tinted windows would ensure their privacy, Chris walked over to the open door and bent down to speak to his partner. Just as he did this, he was pushed from behind and found himself pitching forward into the back seat. He looked back up to complain and spotted a stranger in the front passenger seat. He had no choice but to climb in next to his partner. The car door slammed shut immediately.

"Relax, you aren't going anywhere right now." A gun was pointed at Rita's head by the dark-haired man with a thick European accent.

"Vincent Adesso?" Chris inquired as he sat back against the seat next to Rita. The man looked familiar, but Chris couldn't place him.

The gun never moved as the stranger sneered at them. "You will meet _il lupo _soon enough. He has some unfinished business with your partner...as do I."

Chris' eyes met Rita's in the dark interior. Vito was back in the driver's seat where he belonged, but instead of taking them to the location picked out by Captain Lipschitz and Donnie, they were now on their way back to the home of Vincent Adesso.

….

Cotton burst into the small house, yelling at the top of his lungs, "What happened?! How did they find us?"

Donnie looked at the frantic man in confusion. "Cotton, show a little class. Don't you know how to enter a house in a civilized manner?"

Harry was busy dialing the phone and looked up at the disturbance in annoyance.

"Are you calling for back up and an ambulance?" Cotton asked, out of breath now. He couldn't understand their calm attitudes. "Didn't you guys see what happened, for Pete's sake?"

Harry slammed down the phone. "What the hell are you talking about, Dunn? Spit it out!"

Cotton ran to the back door again which was standing open, and pointed outside. "Anthony is on the ground over by the garage, knocked out cold! I saw Vito hit him and then drive off with Chris and Rita in the back seat!"

Cotton's audience reacted quickly now, and they all three rushed out to the driveway. Just as Cotton had reported, Anthony was on the ground by the garage. The big man had managed to sit up, and he was rubbing the back of his head when the small group arrived to check on him.

"What happened?" Donnie asked angrily.

Harry pulled out his cell. The situation was spinning out of control. It was time to call the Feds.

"Vito, the son of a bitch, whacked me just as I was getting ready to ride shotgun as you instructed."

Donnie stared at the dazed man in shock. "Why would he do that?"

"I don't know, but somebody else, a cousin of his I think, showed up out of nowhere right before he hit me. He must have called him on the car phone."

"Did the scumbag have a name?" Donnie was yelling now.

Anthony cringed in pain but answered quickly, "I heard Vito call him Carlo."

"They are probably going right back to Adesso's," Cotton added, stating the obvious.

"Bring your car up here," Donnie snapped at Cotton. "No way in hell Vito is gonna get away with this. Nobody turns their back on me, and sells out my friends." Lending Anthony a hand, he helped the injured man rise to his feet. "Get some ice on that head and get ready to move. We're outta here."

"Okay, DiBarto," Harry said, finishing up his call. "Ramirez is meeting us here in fifteen minutes."

Donnie walked back into the house, with the Captain following right behind him. "I'm not waiting for no Feds, Harry. This Adesso character is really pissing me off, and it's about time I pay him a visit."

"Oh no, you don't," Harry warned him quickly. "We've tried to do things your way, and your damn chauffeur kidnapped my two detectives. I'm not taking any more chances. I should have known better than to even listen to your ideas."

Both men stared at each other, finding themselves once again clashing over their basic principles and ideals. The silence was broken by Cotton's arrival.

"I can drive," Cotton offered, oblivious to their battle of wills. "I have the address."

"Harry?" Donnie asked one last time. "It's the best way."

"Arghhh..." Harry started dialing the phone again. "I really hate you, DiBarto." Patched through to Ramirez, Harry barked into the receiver as he walked, not giving the man on the other end time to argue or reply. "We're on our way to Adesso's. We'll meet you a half-mile down the block. We'll be in a..." Stepping out of the house, he came face to face with Cotton's pride and joy. Rolling his eyes heavenward, he prayed for strength and took a seat as he described "Beauty" to the unhappy DEA agent.

* * *

….

"Pull out your gun slowly," Carlo barked at Chris. "It would be such a shame if my finger accidentally slipped, and I shot your partner." He watched the couple closely with hate-filled eyes. "It would ruin all my plans for _la bella donna_."

Taking a deep breath, Chris handed over his weapon carefully. Rita had barely moved a muscle during the last ten minutes, and his concern for her increased.

"No questions for me, Sergeant?" Carlo taunted. "Did your partner tell you all about her little visit with us? _Signore Adesso_ loves beautiful women, and he was quite distraught to find her gone."

Chris sensed the tension in Rita as she turned away to stare out the window. Carlo laughed at her reaction and turned to Vito, making a comment in Italian.

Chris took advantage of his distraction. "Sam," he whispered to his partner, but she kept her face turned to the glass. Damn it. It was his own fault. If he hadn't flown off the handle with her back at the house, she wouldn't be doubting his faith in her now. He wasn't about to listen to any accusations thrown out by the imbecile with a gun.

Carlo turned back to Chris as he pulled out a pack of cigarettes. Shaking it, he selected one with his lips. These two still looked more like photographer's models than police officers to him. The gun in his hand never wavered as he flicked his lighter. Exhaling a cloud of smoke into the back seat, he smiled; uneven yellowed teeth glowing eerily in the faint flashes of light from passing street lamps.

Chris let his mind go blank as he tried to focus his thoughts. He knew what needed to be done. This wasn't the first time they had been thrown into a tight situation, and it surely wouldn't be the last. The two of them had always managed to use their heads in the past to figure something out.

Vito drove the large Lincoln up to the front gates of the Adesso property and pushed the button for the speakerphone. The gates started opening as soon as he identified himself, and he followed the winding driveway around to the back of the house. Donnie's chauffeur was obviously familiar with the layout. As he parked the car and got out, Carlo did the same, leaving the two detectives alone for just a few seconds.

With both men ready to open the back doors at any moment, Rita glanced desperately at her partner. Her eyes widened at his calm and relaxed pose.

Looking into her eyes, Chris managed a small smile. With an abrupt wink and a nod, he turned his attention to Vito as the driver yanked open the back door.

Confused, Rita didn't know what to make of this sudden burst of confidence from Chris. She had expected some type of reaction to Carlo's comments but surely not this. Her door, like Chris', was opened quickly and before she could step out, Carlo took hold of her arm and pulled her roughly towards him.

Guided into the Adesso mansion through the rear of the house, both detectives were brought directly to Vincent's study. The double doors were standing wide open this time, revealing a noticeably angry man sitting behind the large, ornate desk. Michael, Carlo's co-worker stood next to his boss but moved to take over for Vito when the foursome entered the room.

"I am very disappointed in you, Sergeant Lance."

Rita met the penetrating stare of the 'wolf' head-on. Carlo shoved her forward, closer to the desk, but instead of reprimanding his henchman as he did on her last visit there, Vincent looked on impatiently. "Where is it, Sergeant?" he demanded.

Chris watched Carlo through narrowed eyes. There were a few scores to be settled with that one.

"Where is what?" Rita sighed, trying to move away from the man behind her.

Vincent slammed his fist down on top of the desk and stood up. "The list, dammit!" He leaned forward, raising his voice even further. "I don't know how you got ahold of it before you left, but I want it back. This has gone on long enough!"

Rita looked on in surprise. This was news to her.

"Carlo!" Vincent snapped. "Have you taken the precaution of searching our guests yet?"

The smirking man jumped to attention, happy for any excuse to manhandle the woman. His hands passed over her slim figure, patting her roughly.

Her partner struggled to stay calm, fully aware that this was the same man who had struck Rita earlier in the day. He barely noticed Michael frisking him until the man's hands passed over his ankles. Chris froze, but Michael didn't even pause as he skimmed over the small snub-nosed revolver strapped there. He continued his search as if it didn't exist. Chris glanced at the man behind him, but Michael wouldn't meet his eyes. Instead, he backed away.

_"Niente_," Michael reported. "He's clean."

"Carlo?" Vincent inquired.

"_Signorina_ Lance is clean also," Carlo admitted reluctantly, releasing her waist and stepping back.

Vincent turned his attention back to Rita. "Do you deny stealing the list from me, Sergeant?"

Obviously, they were no longer on a first-name basis, which was okay with her. "I left here with nothing but the clothes on my back," she informed him curtly. "It sounds like you are once again having internal problems in your organization."

The crime boss studied the detective carefully as he made up his mind. Coming to decision, he nodded abruptly. "So be it." He turned to Carlo. "Get rid of them."

Chris spoke up quickly as he was grabbed by the arms, "Wait a minute, Adesso!"

Vincent ignored him, considering the matter already closed. He sat down behind his desk and turned his attention back to the papers there.

Rita recognized the signs of his total dismissal. What were they going to do now, she wondered as she was led out of the room? Chris and Michael were right behind her.

"Take care of him outside," Carlo ordered as he headed for the stairway with Rita in tow.

Michael kept a firm hold on Chris, staring at his cohort in confusion. "Where are you taking her? _IL Lupo_ said to take care of them now. Let's go outside."

"Let go of her," Chris ordered with deadly quiet. He tried to break out of Michael's grip and go after Carlo, but he was held too tightly.

The only response Carlo gave was a disgusted laugh. What a stupid, stupid man, he thought. Enough wasting time. There were orders to be followed, but not until he had his revenge on the woman who had been a thorn in his side all day. "Take care of your own business, _Michele_, and I will take care of mine." Without a glance back, he continued up the stairs, dragging a struggling Rita behind him.

Chris had seen enough and he lunged forward, only to be restrained even more roughly.

"Come with me, Sergeant!" Michael hissed under his breath. Leading Chris into a room off of the hallway, he pinned him to the wall and spoke in a hurried whisper. "I have the list."

The first thing Chris noticed was the lack of accent. Michael was now speaking perfect English with just a hint of Queens, New York in there. "What the hell is going on?"

"DEA."

"That figures," Chris muttered. "You're working with Ramirez?"

"And Ferguson," Michael confessed.

"The arrogant bastard," Chris blurted out, unable to stop himself.

"I see you've met him."

"I've had the pleasure."

Michael released Chris and checked the hallway. Motioning for him to follow, Michael led the way further down the hall away from the stairs.

Chris caught up to him quickly and tried to stop the agent. "I'm not leaving here without my partner."

"There's a back stairway," Michael assured him.

Sure enough, Chris followed him across the kitchen to the narrow servant's staircase. Both men tread lightly on the carpeted stairs. Reaching the top, they were just in time to see Carlo and Rita disappear into a second-floor bedroom. Chris crouched down and pulled out the small revolver from his ankle holster. Michael led the way slowly towards the room. With one man on either side of the door, he knocked loudly.

"Carlo!"

The accent was back, Chris noticed.

"You're needed downstairs!" the agent kept up the pressure.

"_Vada via!_"

"I cannot go away," Michael responded to the angry command. He pulled the gun out of his waistband at the sound of scrambling from inside. Nodding to Chris, they were both ready when the door was flung open. Each officer grabbed an arm, immobilizing a surprised Carlo.

"What's going on?" the trapped man yelled.

"Shut up, maggot!" Chris hissed, grabbing him by the hair and forcing his head back painfully. The small group backed up into the room, and Chris left Carlo in Michael's care so he could help his partner. Rita's hands had been tied to a chair with a silk necktie. He smiled in relief. She was already working on the knot.

"Hey, partner," he muttered, crouching down to help her.

Rita let him take over. "Perfect timing, Sam," she whispered gratefully. The sight of Chris being led away had been just as terrifying as her almost certain fate in Carlo's hands. "What's going down?" she asked, nodding towards Michael.

"DEA," Chris answered simply.

"Friend or foe?"

"Yet to be determined," Chris quipped. Noticing Michael's frown in his direction, he quickly added, "Friend so far."

"Ferguson?" Michael asked simply, curious about why Rita had to even ask such a question.

"By reputation only," her partner answered for her. "But hopefully she'll be having a face to face with him soon."

Carlo grew angrier as the others ignored him. He spat out a few violent suggestions in a language much better suited to love. Michael pulled out a pair of handcuffs but paused before using them. "Sergeant?" He held them out to Rita with a knowing smile.

The agent's move surprised her, but Rita only hesitated for a second. Professionalism prevented her from gloating, but there was a satisfied gleam in her eye as she snapped the metal bracelets onto Carlo's wrists. Tempted as she was, she held off tightening them any more than was necessary.

Confident that Carlo was taken care of for the moment, Chris' thoughts were already back on how they were going to get out of the house undetected. "Can we go back down the stairs and out the rear?"

"It's possible," Michael admitted, "but it's also heavily guarded now because of Sergeant Lance's escape earlier tonight."

"Our only other option is straight out the front." Rita watched Michael gag Carlo, who was still staring at her with a desperate, crazed look in his eye. She unconsciously moved closer to her partner.

"What if you walk us out the back way as if you're following Adesso's instructions, Michael? How many men are we talking about back there?"

Michael looked at Chris and shook his head. "There are probably ten or fifteen of them on the grounds right now, and their main meeting area is in the guest cottage right behind us."

"What are the chances of using one of the cars parked out front?" Chris asked. "Maybe with the element of surprise on our side, we can slip out the front fast and get off the property before all hell breaks loose."

"It's our best shot," the agent said quickly. "I know where the spare keys are kept in the kitchen. We can pick them up on our way out."

"Are you up to it?" Chris asked his quiet partner. Her attention kept returning to the handcuffed man who had been thrown face down onto the bed. His head was turned towards them, and he seemed intent on making Rita uncomfortable with his hateful glares and muttered curses. "Hey," Chris whispered to Rita, turning her back his way. "Don't worry about that guy, he isn't going anywhere. Are you up for making a run on the front door?"

"Yeah," Rita nodded quickly, pulling her scattered wits back together. "Of course."

"Okay, then," Michael interrupted. "I need to get the list from my room before we go. It's just at the end of the hallway. Follow me."

"What about your friend?" Chris asked, indicating the man on the bed.

Michael paused with his hand on the doorknob and smiled back over his shoulder. "He'll be fine where he is. After all the mistakes he's made in the last twenty-four hours, I don't think _il lupo_ will have much use for him anymore. His fate is sealed."

Rita followed Michael, slipping silently out the door, but Chris hesitated and walked back over to the bed.

He stared down at the cowardly man who had resorted to striking a woman who was blindfolded and handcuffed. It was hard to ignore the desire for revenge, but there wasn't time to make sure this low life got everything that he deserved. There were also no guarantees that Carlo would be in custody when all this was over. The temptation to deliver a little justice of his own making had never been so great.

Leaning down to whisper in Carlo's ear, Chris spoke slow and clear, "This isn't over between us yet. That's a promise. You're going to wish you'd never laid a hand on her."

"Chris?" Rita stuck her head back in the room and called out in a rushed whisper.

"I'm coming," he assured her quickly. Cool blue eyes met deadly brown for a split second before Chris straightened up and followed his partner out the door.

Neither detective noticed the large hulking figure hiding in the servant's stairwell.

"Got it!" Michael called out from inside the closet. The computer list had been removed from its binder and placed in a manila envelope. Michael lifted his shirt and placed the package against his stomach. "Help me here," he said quietly, handing Rita a roll of masking tape. They proceeded to tape the evidence to the agent's body. "This right here represents a whole year of undercover work," he confessed, patting it affectionately before dropping his shirt back down.

"Was it worth it?" Chris couldn't help asking. His own job consumed a major part of his life more often than not, but at least he could go home night. Especially now, with his relationship with Rita, there was a whole world out there away from work, waiting to be explored together.

Michael glanced from one detective to the other. He didn't know how to explain the calling he felt for this type of work. "Yeah," he finally admitted with a wry smile. "Ready?"

Chris cracked the door open and checked the hallway. "All clear." He then proceeded to lead the way to the back stairs. Catching a glimpse of his partner before he headed down, he was satisfied that she was no more than a few seconds behind him. As soon as he reached the bottom, he turned and waited for her to join him.

Rita stopped on the bottom step and turned to look back up, waiting for Michael.

"There's a small problem up here," she heard the agent whisper. "I'll meet you outside the front door."

"Do you need back up?" she asked quickly. Chris was holding on to her waist as she peered up the dimly lit stairway.

"I've got it handled," he called out. "Meet me outside in five minutes."

"Let's go," Chris urged. They needed to move out of the kitchen quickly. There were no places hide in the open, airy room if someone were to enter through the main door. He tightened his grip on the small gun in his hand and crossed the room with Rita right behind him. Peering out the door into the main hallway, a small strip of light could be seen under the study door, but otherwise, the house was dead silent.

Chris looked behind him. Rita was watching him with solemn green eyes, ready to make a run for it at his okay. He surprised her with his next words. "I'm sorry about the way I acted earlier." He had to say it now. He couldn't stand any bad feelings lingering between them. Searching her expression for forgiveness, he waited for her to say something...anything.

"It's not important anymore, Chris," she whispered back without emotion.

"Yes, it is, Sam," he insisted. "I was mad at myself, not you."

Rita placed a finger over his lips to silence him, but her expression had softened, and she even managed a slight smile. "Let's get out of here so you can spend the next few nights convincing me of your sincerity."

"I can do that," Chris said with a grin, feeling a little better. He surprised her with a quick hard kiss on the mouth before focusing back on business. Now all they had to do was make it out the front door. He checked the hallway once again. "Ready?"

"Ready," she confirmed, wishing at that moment there had been some way to get her gun back. She felt lost without it. She pushed all distracting thoughts aside as Chris slipped out the door and she followed right behind. Hearing a loud thump from upstairs, both detectives turned into one of the open rooms off the main hall.

Footsteps could be heard just outside the door, and Chris instinctively pressed his partner closer to the inside wall just to the side of the door, hiding her and himself from immediate view. Holding their breath for a few seconds, they waited for the footsteps to recede before moving carefully back into the hallway. They reached the entryway quickly. Chris had just put his hand on the front doorknob when another noise drew his attention.

"Just as you promised me, Sergeant, things are not over between us yet."

Both detectives were shocked to see Carlo walking down the main staircase with his cousin Vito right behind him. Each man held a gun pointed in their direction. Something must have gone terribly wrong upstairs.

"You're right," Chris admitted, placing himself between Rita and the angry Italian. "Anytime, anywhere, scum bag."

"What's the matter, Lorenzo?" Carlo continued to taunt, "Are you upset that I got to taste your sweet little partner? Do you want to know if she cried out your name when my mouth was all over her?" He walked across the entry to stand right in Chris' face. "I will grant you one question before you die. Tell me what you really want to know."

"Carlo?" Vincent emerged from his study at that moment and looked curiously at the group in the entryway. "What's going on here?"

Carlo turned to his boss and walked back over to the stairs, waving the gun around. "I'm taking care of business, just like you ordered, _Signore Adesso_."

Chris kept his small gun hidden in the palm of his hand.

"You should be done with them by now, Carlo. I am getting tired of your inability to carry out simple orders today," Vincent continued his public reprimand, not seeming to notice the way the target of his verbal attack was becoming increasingly agitated. "You made a mess at the bus station, and now you're making a mess out of this. I don't like messes, Carlo. Where is Michael?"

Both detectives had been wondering the same thing. Chris got a better look at Vito and spotted his own gun in the chauffeur's hand.

"Forget Michael," Carlo snapped. "I'm tired of taking orders from you. Pay me the money you owe me. I am no longer working for 'the wolf'.

"Certainly," Vincent agreed politely, with only a slight narrowing of his piercing brown gaze. "Let me go to my desk. I'll be right back."

"_Aspettare_!" Carlo called out sharply, "Wait for Vito. My cousin will accompany you, just to be on the safe side."

Both men disappeared into Vincent's study, and Carlo turned his attention back to the detectives.

Chris kept his expression blank, refusing to be drawn into the vengeful man's games. They had to find a way to check on the missing agent and also get out of the house as quickly as possible.

"You haven't asked me your one question yet," Carlo sneered.

Chris heard a sharp intake of breath from his partner, and he glanced back at her. He followed her gaze. She was staring at the top of the staircase where a small pajama-glad boy was making his way towards the commotion in the entryway. He held onto the railing with one hand and rubbed his eyes with the other. Carlo hadn't noticed him yet, but the small boy was already on a direct path to where the hitman stood.

"Why don't we take this outside?" Chris suggested quickly. "I don't think _Signore Adesso_ would like my blood staining this expensive carpet."

"I am sick to death of _il lupo's_ particular ways," Carlo spat out.

Vincent walked out of his office, gun in hand at just that moment. "Drop it, Carlo," he suggested.

Carlo glanced wildly around the room. "Where is Vito?" he screamed at his boss.

Vincent advanced on him with a steady aim. "Vito has learned the error of his ways."

"You killed my cousin?"

Carlo was spinning wildly out of control now, and Chris backed away slowly as the drama continued to unfold. Despite her attempts to get around him, Chris also kept his partner shielded from the weapons that were being pointed all over the place.

"Papa?" a tiny voice called out, confused and sleepy.

Before anyone else could make a move, Carlo reached back and grabbed the child roughly, placing him against his chest, in the direct line of fire from Vincent's gun. "My money," he reminded the drug lord.

Rita made a move to get around Chris, but he stopped her. There was nothing they could do right now.

Vincent lowered his gun, shaken by the cries of his son as the young boy tried to wriggle out of Carlo's grip. Cold hard eyes sent a silent warning to the gunman. He would travel to hell and beyond for revenge if one hair on his child's head was touched.

"Hah! You aren't such a big man anymore. Are you _Signore_?"

"Take a shot," Rita whispered. Carlo had to be put down before he did the unthinkable. He was too far out of control to be reasoned with.

"I can't," Chris argued. "Not with this gun. I might hit the boy."

Peppino continued to cry, and Rita was desperate to find a way to help. Even if his father was a drug dealer, no child deserved to be a witness to this type of violence. Chris shifted nervously in front of her, and she knew he felt the same way.

"You can do it," she insisted. "Trust yourself."

"Find a way to make him drop the kid, and I'll go for it," he murmured softly.

Vincent walked back out of the study with a large envelope, his eyes still focused on his son.

Rita stepped away from Chris, the movement drawing Vincent's attention for a moment. She made a quick motion, hoping he would interpret it correctly. He looked away a second later.

"Hand me the money," Carlo demanded, struggling to keep hold of the squirming boy.

Vincent stepped forward and held out the envelope, but dropped it a second before Carlo's fingers closed around it. It fell to the floor.

"Tell the boy to pick it up and return it to me," the angry gunman ordered. He kept hold of Peppino while the boy's father tried to calm him, telling him it was all part of a game and the next move was his.

The four-year-old actually smiled in between sniffles, and he was all set to play when Carlo set him on his feet. The gun remained trained on Peppino as he walked over to the package and picked it up. He stood there smiling at his father, prize in hand.

Rita was standing behind Chris once again, her hand resting lightly on his hips as they both waited for the right moment. When it came, Chris was quick and efficient with his moves. He raised the small revolver the exact moment Carlo's gun was pointed away from the child and fired one round, dropping him instantly.

Vincent rushed forward to pick up his son, pulling him close, which gave Chris and Rita plenty of time to retrieve Carlo's gun.

"If you stay here with them," Chris suggested, "I'll go check on Michael."

"You got it," his partner agreed quickly. Rita kept her gun pointed at their host as he sat down on the stairs and checked the boy for any signs of harm. The four-year-old was half asleep again, no longer interested in noisy grown-up games.

"Thank you," Vincent whispered, looking up at Rita as the child snuggled closer to his father's chest.

"You will still be separated from him," Rita reminded him. "Does he have somewhere to go?"

Vincent laughed softly, no hint of sarcasm or anger left in him now. "Yes, he will stay with my mother, but you know the way of the world, Sergeant. We'll be reunited very quickly, and we will start over elsewhere. Please understand that I am grateful to you and your partner for sparing my son, and I won't forget what you've done here today. I know you both could have escaped while all this was going down."

"Then that is the difference between you and me, _Signore Adesso_." Rita smiled at the quiet look of confusion on his face. "You see, I do have a conscience. I could never stand by and let the little ones of this world suffer, and neither could my partner."

The front door burst open at that moment, and Dan Ramirez led a large group of DEA agents into the house, weapons raised. Additional agents poured in through the back hallway at the same time, having entered through the kitchen door.

Rita and Vincent continued to stare at each other, not ready to acknowledge the presence of others just yet.

The Wolf nodded towards the beautiful detective with a reluctant smile. "A naive but noble attitude, _Signorina_."

Rita wasn't given a chance to respond. Vincent was immediately surrounded by agents who forced him to stand as they read him his rights. Still holding his son, he was led out of the house. Chris appeared at the top of the stairs with Michael leaning heavily against him. The injured agent became the immediate center of attention, and Chris left him in the capable hands of his colleagues. Everything was happening at once. The bodies of Carlo and Vito were being photographed and cataloged while other agents searched the house for evidence. The two homicide detectives stood just inside the study, out of everyone's way. This was the DEA's show, and they were too tired to wish it otherwise.

"Listen up, hotshot, you wouldn't have squat if it wasn't for our help. Let us through!"

Rita turned to Chris, and a smile lit up her face at the sound of Donnie's outraged voice.

"Palm Beach PD, buddy. You've got two of my detectives in there. Stand aside." Harry appeared in the doorway of the room after shoving his way through the crowd. Rumpled and windblown from his ride in Cotton's car, he had no idea that his hair was still standing on end, and his tie was crooked. "You two okay?" he asked simply.

Before they could reply, Donnie arrived carrying an agitated Dutchie. "It's a zoo in here," he complained, watching all the commotion. He whistled softly as he checked out the richly appointed room. Spotting a bronze sculpture of a wolf, Donnie walked over to the pedestal in the corner and laughed as he read the engraved words on the base.

Rita had followed him, curious. "Don't tell me. It has to be titled "_In Bocca al Lupo_."

"Good guess, Doll," Donnie said, still chuckling. "But this guy forgot the second half of the old saying. You only get good luck if you finish the verse."

Rita sent him a questioning look.

"When somebody says _In Bocca al Lupo_," he explained, "you're supposed to reply, _Crepi il lupo._ Translated it means, 'may the wolf burst'."

Chris and Harry had walked over to join them, and Harry shook his head in disgust, "Still doesn't sound like good luck to me."

Donnie smiled and acknowledged the truth of Harry's words, "It's a very old saying." He winked at Rita.

"Captain?"

"Ra-mir-ez!" Harry drawled loudly as he turned to the agent in charge. "And Ferguson," he added, spotting the Lieutenant's sidekick. "You remember Sergeant Lorenzo," he said smugly. "This is his partner, Sergeant Rita Lance. I believe my two detectives have pretty much wrapped up your case for you."

Ramirez stood there with his hands on his hips and let Harry have his moment. "Sergeant Lance," he said, acknowledging Rita with a curt nod. "It's a pleasure to finally meet you."

Ferguson remained silent but watched the homicide team through suspicious eyes.

Rita didn't say a word but stood tall next to her partner. Despite the sweatshirt and leggings, there was no mistaking the air of professionalism that surrounded her, or the distrustful look in her eyes.

"If it's all right with you folks," Ramirez continued, filling in the awkward silence, "we'll take care of the initial debriefing right now. I'm sure you're all anxious to get home."

That was putting it mildly, Chris thought to himself. He rubbed his partner's back, offering silent comfort in the middle of all the chaos surrounding them. With any luck, they would be done within an hour or two.

"Dan!" One of the DEA agents stuck his head inside the doorway. "We need you out here."

"We'll meet you in the dining room in ten minutes," Ramirez informed the small group. He turned to leave, his sullen partner following right behind.

"You staying, Cap?" Chris asked when they were once again alone in the study.

"Damn right I'm staying," Harry assured him. "In fact, I'm going to call Donovan right now and tell him to get down here."

"Do you really think that's necessary?" Rita asked as she rubbed the back of her neck. She sighed in relief when Chris' hands replaced hers. He began loosening the knot of tension that had tightened continuously over the last twelve hours.

"Listen, you two," the Captain began seriously. He paused until he had the attention of both of his detectives. "I'm really proud of the work you both did here today."

"Thanks, Captain," Rita responded.

"But," Harry held up a hand to stop her from interrupting him again, "a lot of what went on is going to take some pretty creative explaining to the Police Commissioner. That's why I want Donovan here. If we handle this right, we'll be free and clear of the DEA. If we don't, a federal count of obstruction of justice will be the least of our worries."

"Hey, Cap..."

"I know, Lorenzo," Harry assured him. "I'm just suggesting we tread carefully. Okay?" Pulling out his cell phone, Harry dialed George's home number. It was with no small measure of satisfaction that he observed the young detective calmly consider his comments. Maybe there were some hard lessons that had been learned in the emotional turmoil they had all just gone through. The Assistant DA answered the phone, and Harry turned away from the group so he could speak privately with George.

"Are you ready for this?" Chris asked Rita with concern. She had to be completely exhausted. He'd give anything to be able to duck out of this mess and drive her home.

"I'm doing great," Rita said, trying to sound enthused but failing miserably. "Maybe we should go get started."

"You got nothin' to be worried about," Donnie cut in. "Without you, these jamokes coulda been sitting on this guy for another six months to a year with no results. You did them a favor."

"Sergeant Lance? Sergeant Lorenzo?"

Both detectives turned to the doorway. Michael, the DEA agent who had been working in deep cover for the last year, approached them slowly. He was still limping from the blow he had taken to his right side.

"Shouldn't you be in the hospital?" Chris asked, walking over to meet him halfway. Right after taking Carlo down, Chris had found the agent lying on the hallway floor upstairs, barely conscious. As far as they could figure out, Vito had found his cousin while Chris and Rita were in Michael's room. In the time it had taken Vito to remove the gag and set Carlo upright, the two homicide detectives had disappeared down the stairway. Following instructions from the handcuffed man, Vito got Michael's attention, enticing him back up the hallway. The chauffeur had managed to get the drop on Michael, beating him as he searched for the key to the handcuffs.

Rita joined Chris at Michael's side.

"I'm on my way there now," Michael admitted. "I just wanted to say thank you before I left."

Chris looked confused. "We should be thanking you, man."

"You'll have to allow me to disagree with you there." Michael reached out to shake hands with Chris and then Rita. "A lot of cops walking blindly into a situation like this would never have been able to keep it together. Your help was appreciated." He grimaced in pain and pressed a hand to his side.

"Can I call someone to help you?" Rita offered. His generous words helped her relax as the adrenaline rush wore off.

"I'm fine, Sergeant Lance. It's nothing more than a fractured rib or two." He threw her a crooked grin and lifted his shirt. The list was still there, taped tightly to his waist. He once again patted it affectionately. "I've already explained your involvement to Lieutenant Ramirez, and I'll be filing a full report in the next day or two. I don't think Ferguson will be bothering you anymore."

"Thank you," she whispered in relief.

Michael watched the attractive brunette for a moment. She looked worn out right now, but he remembered the righteous fire that had burned bright in her eyes earlier that day. The honest cops always had that. He was curious about her partner's protective attitude; she was obviously quite capable of taking care of herself. Michael cleared his throat, forcing his thoughts back to the matter at hand. The shrill whine of an ambulance siren grew nearer. "Hey, it sounds like my ride is here," he said with a smile. "I have a mountain of bank records to sift through, and there's no better place to do that than in a comfortable hospital room."

"You DEA guys have all the fun," Chris teased as they walked him to the front door. Two paramedics came over to lead the agent away. "Take care of yourself," Chris called out to the disappearing figure.

"Are you ready to get this over with?" It was Rita's turn to ask. George's car had just entered through the tall wrought-iron gates.

Chris stepped aside to let the coroner's team pass through the doorway before he turned to his partner. Wrapping an arm around her shoulders, he gave her a quick squeeze. "Yeah, I'm ready if you are. Let's do it."

Chris and Rita joined the Captain, Donnie, Lieutenant Ramirez, and a hand full of others around the massive dining room table. George Donovan walked in and took a seat just a few minutes later. Lieutenant Ramirez was just about to start the proceedings when Ferguson appeared in the doorway.

The short-tempered agent had his gun in one hand, and Cotton, by the back of his collar in the other. "Captain Lipschitz," he demanded derisively, "I found this weasel outside, and he claims to be working on the Adesso case with your department."

Cotton continued to gesture and complain wildly, trying to break free from the steel grip he was caught in.

"Captain Lipschitz! Tell him I'm with you!" He panicked when Harry stared at him in stunned silence. Okay, maybe he had overstated his involvement just a little. "Chris! Buddy! Tell this ape to let me go!" The confused look on his young friend's face wasn't very encouraging either. "Rita? Boss? Somebody explain to this guy that I am not one of Adesso's men!"

Ramirez grew impatient with the distraction. "Get rid of him, Ferguson. Take him downtown with the others."

Chris stood up and walked over to the doorway. He refused to be embarrassed, which would surely disappoint the smug, self- satisfied agent. "Excuse me, Ferguson." Taking hold of Cotton's shirt in the same manner Ferguson had, he pulled the con man free. "This little weasel happens to belong to us." Keeping a firm grip on Cotton's shirt, he walked him around the table and pushed him down into the empty seat next to his.

"Thanks, buddy," Cotton whispered frantically, "you don't know what these guys were threatening me with out there."

"Settle down, Cotton," Chris whispered impatiently. All eyes were still focused on them.

"I'm not kidding, Chris," he continued to babble uncontrollably. "I've never been so scared in my life."

Rita leaned across her partner and caught Cotton's eye. Her patience and her nerves were just about worn out, and she was dying to get out of there. "Shut up, Cotton, or I'll be forced to tell them you're Adesso's number two man. I don't think you'll appreciate the full body search."

Cotton's mouth dropped open at her words, and he stared in shock.

"Okay, everyone," Dan Ramirez called out to the group, "let's get this done so we can all go home before sun up."

* * *

….

_Lifting her head off her arms, Rita looked up. Golden rays caressed her face with their welcome heat. Everything around her was vibrant and alive. The warmth of the sun, the smell of the saltwater, and even the laughter of children in the background blended together seamlessly. Time had no meaning, and although there was still one missing element needed to complete her happiness, she knew he would be arriving soon. _

_Lulled back to the brink of sleep by the rhythm of the surf, she was stunned when it suddenly all disappeared, and she found herself surrounded by a lifeless black void. The harder she searched for all she had lost, the denser and blacker her world became, until finally, contentment which had once been so close at hand, was nothing more than a distant memory. The sadness and emptiness were overwhelming. _

_Close to tears, she tried to call out, but sound was nonexistent in the void. A slight movement in the stillness caught her attention. Two dark brown eyes appeared, barely discernible against the blackness. The eyes narrowed and lightened as they moved closer and she found herself staring into the harsh, predatory gaze of a wolf. Her fate was certain. _

_Unexpectedly, just when all seemed hopeless, a feather-light touch gently placed against the side of her neck created a glimmer of light. The first touch was followed by another, and then another, leaving a trail of tiny sparks that continued to break through to the nightmare, weakening its hold on her. The mysterious pressure increased, traveling across her shoulders before finding the supple curves of her spine. She froze, afraid of moving and losing this gift of hope. When she finally dared to look back up, the wolf had disappeared, taking with him the darkness and barrenness of the void. _

_The nightmare had become a dream, surrounding her with swirling patterns of light and sound. There was no beginning nor end to this symphony for the senses. Especially the music. It was just there, coursing through her veins, indistinguishable from the blood that kept her alive; a part of her very existence, maybe even a part of her soul. Nothing made sense, and yet everything was right as it should be. The music became words. Soft, hushed murmurings that were passionate and comforting, enticing her to awaken, to leave the world of dreams behind and embrace an even more fulfilling reality. Her heart lightened; she was no longer alone. _

Rita's eyelids fluttered open for a brief second but drifted back down as she hugged her pillow closer.

Her partner pulled the comforter up higher, cocooning them both in a layer of warmth as he tried to make her more comfortable. Her restlessness had awoken him a short time ago.

The feather-light kisses and gentle stroking, meant to soothe and comfort Rita as she sobbed quietly in her sleep, suddenly turned into something more as she began responding to his touch.

"Good intentions be damned, Sam," he swore quietly, letting his lips brush over hers. Her soft sigh of pleasure escaped in a rush of warm breath against his cheeks.

Propped up on one elbow, he couldn't resist touching the beautiful woman next to him. Breathing in her familiar scent, he closed his eyes.

Each and every moment with Rita felt like a gift, and it scared the hell out of him. It scared the hell out of him because no matter how many other relationships he had had in the past, not one of them came even close to being as important as this one. He had been a risk-taker his entire life, but right now he was on the brink of a future that offered happiness and fulfillment in ways he had never dreamed possible. Suddenly, there was so much more to lose.

Watching his partner continue to sleep, Chris tried to imagine his life if the unthinkable had happened and she had been lost to him. Although the terror of not knowing where she was and what had happened to her was still fresh in his memory, the pain of her loss would have been a thousand times worse. Could life be that cruel? Would his own survival have been possible after a tragedy of that magnitude? His dark thoughts and questions were interrupted by Rita. A reluctant smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as she muttered unintelligibly and rolled onto her back. Eyes that were half opened and still clouded with sleep stared lovingly into his. He was convinced she didn't even know what she was doing when she raised her arms to pull him closer.

"The darkness is gone," she murmured against the side of his face, "and you're here."

Chris pulled back slightly and smiled down at the woman he loved more than life itself. "I hate to break this to you, Sam," he teased gently, "but it's five o'clock in the evening, and it will be dark again in half an hour. We slept the day away."

"I'm still so tired," she admitted softly. "I thought I saw a wolf in the room."

"Nightmares?" he asked with quiet concern.

"No..." Rita tried to stifle a yawn. "Not anymore." Closing her eyes again, she enjoyed the welcome pressure of his body resting on top of hers. Her hands skimmed lightly over the warm, sculpted firmness of his chest and around to his back. She gripped his shoulders from behind. This was her reality, not the blackness of the void. Not being fully awake yet, there was security in his nearness. She smiled contentedly when he started nibbling again. The scratchy stubble on his chin felt wonderfully sensual against her skin. Parting her legs, she let him settle comfortably between them.

This was the magic. The quiet times between just the two of them.

Chris' hands were gentle as they roamed over her body once again, his fingertips danced over the supple curves of her spine, cupping the smooth roundness of her hips, reassuring himself that she was okay and fueling their desires. The breath caught in his throat when she reached down to take him into her hands. He closed his eyes and let the sensations wash over him. Her gentle caresses were pure pleasure, creating an urgent need in both of them.

As if still caught up in a hazy, beautiful dream, Rita took charge and guided him into her body. They moved together slowly, passionately, reaffirming their commitment to each other with each intimate movement. This was the exact opposite of their rushed, desperate coupling the night before, but it was just as powerful.

"Thank God you weren't hurt, Sam," the harsh whisper escaped from Chris before he could stop himself. Holding on to her tightly, he lay still for a moment with his face hidden against the side of her neck. Somewhere deep inside, his soul was freezing this moment in time, never wanting to forget the feel of her arms around him. They were as physically and spiritually close as two human beings could possibly be. "I was so afraid of losing you," he confessed, a tremor of fear still evident in his voice.

"You'll never lose me," Rita promised, letting her hands trace over his back in slow rhythmic motions. "We've been in tighter spots before. This one wasn't even close."

"It was too damned close in my book."

Rita kept up the pressure of her hands, urging him to let go of the troubling thoughts. She understood the fear, her own dreams had been a reminder, but they would find a way to deal with it together.

He resisted the hypnotic temptation of her touch; held back by everything they had not yet been able to talk about. "I keep going over what happened yesterday," he rasped, unable to look her in the eye. "I keep thinking of all the things I could have done differently, and I know it was my fault." There, he'd finally said it.

Rita's hands froze, and she sighed. Knowing her partner as well as she did, she should have guessed that he would try and carry the entire burden of guilt for what had happened yesterday, not allowing fate, or even just bad luck to share the load. As far as she was concerned, they had followed procedure at the bus depot, and full responsibility for the last twenty-four hours could be placed squarely on the silk-clad shoulders of Vincent Adesso and his entire syndicate. Convincing Chris of this would not be an easy matter, so she cheated, deciding to distract him until the time came when he could put the emotional upheaval aside and face the subject with logic and common sense. Right now was not that time, so she reached a little lower with one hand.

"Ouch! What did you do that for?" Chris propped himself up on an elbow and stared down in confusion. It was a hard pinch on a soft part of his anatomy, and he reached back to rub the offended cheek.

Rita was fully awake now, and she frowned up at him, "Christopher Lorenzo, do you realize where you are right now?"

"What kind of question is that?" Chris asked in surprise. He was never going to understand the way her mind worked. "I'm home in bed with you."

She ignored the confused look on his face and tried not to smile, "And what exactly are we wearing right now?"

He watched her impatiently. "Sam..." It was his turn to frown.

Rita arched her eyebrows but refused to be deterred. "Answer the question, detective. Let's see how sharp you really are."

He recognized the stubborn look on her face. Nodding his head in defeat, he sighed, "Nothing. Neither one of us is wearing a damn thing." He had no choice but to play along.

"Where are my arms?"

Chris rolled his eyes. Her arms had just slid around his waist, and he could see where this was going. After all, he was a professional. He got paid to notice these kinds of things. "Well," he admitted reluctantly, "I'd say your arms are exactly where they should be, Sam."

"And my legs?"

His mouth dropped open as her legs wound even tighter around him, bringing his body even deeper into hers. Each and every time, it was like heaven on earth. He met her gaze and tried to answer, but the love reflecting in those emerald green eyes rendered him speechless.

Her voice had softened into a throaty whisper, "Very good, Sergeant, you're beginning to catch on." She shifted restlessly under him, each tiny erotic movement increasing tenfold as it reverberated through him. An impish smile turned up one corner of her mouth.

Tightening his hands in her hair, Chris gave up struggling against the distraction she was tempting him with. He understood her message loud and clear. This was not the time to dwell on mistakes. This was the time to accept her gift of love and return it in kind. Narrowing his gaze, sultry blue eyes watched her closely.

"Any more questions for me, Sergeant Lance?" he teased as he started moving his hips again. "Any other body parts need locating?" She wasn't the only one who knew how to play.

"I think they're all accounted for now, Sam," she gasped as his movements had their desired effects. "You were getting a little sidetracked," she tried to explain breathlessly. "I just wanted to point out that the woman, who happens to be wrapped around this magnificent body of yours, is madly in love with you, and..." She tenaciously stuck with her message though, despite the ever-increasing cyclone of emotions that were taking over her body. "We can't, waste time with misplaced blame and uh... inappropriate guilt."

Chris silenced her with relentless, demanding kisses until her fingers were digging into his shoulders, and their bodies were ready to burst.

Rita's breathing became shallow and panting, all else forgotten as she focused on Chris and his deepening strokes. Within minutes her body was clenching and tightening over his, sending shock waves through every nerve ending. Her blood sang, her heart raced, and she pulled Chris right along with her into a final moment of exquisite pleasure.

It was a tired, contented pair that rested silently, arms and legs entwined under the comforter. Chris was on his back staring at the ceiling with one arm securely around Rita. Her face was resting comfortably on his chest. "Remind me why we do this for a living, Sam," Chris asked quietly.

Rita tried to stifle a yawn, "We don't do this for a living, Sam. That would be illegal."

He grinned at the awful joke. "Not THIS. You know what I mean."

"I know what you mean," she admitted, tracing circles on his chest with her finger, "and I don't think there is a simple answer for why any of us go into law enforcement."

"Give me one good reason then. One good reason why we risk being shot at and killed by some punk like Carlo."

Rita lifted her head and searched his expression carefully. Was he really having doubts about a job he had loved and sacrificed for, for over a decade?

Chris brushed the hair out of her eyes and pushed it behind her ear. "Forget it, Rita," he urged gently. "I'm just being moody again. Yesterday was hard on all of us." He watched her fold her arms across his chest and rest her chin on her hands.

"Yesterday was difficult," she admitted, "but you love the job."

"But I love you more," he commented quietly, rubbing his hands over her forearms. "And if it ever came down to a choice, I promise you, there's no contest."

Rita took a deep breath, and watched him through narrowed, questioning eyes, "What's going on? I know you Christopher Lorenzo. The world is full of people who see trouble and don't want to get involved; they turn a blind eye or run in the other direction. You have never done that. Neither have I. It's who we are. We want to make a difference."

Chris looked away for a moment in an attempt to organize his racing thoughts before turning back to his partner. She was right. What they did was more than a job - it was a calling. To have found a soulmate who heard that same call made him a very lucky man. Blessed. If his current relationship with Rita had taught him anything, it was that the only way to get a handle on confused feelings was to face them head-on.

"We can talk over dinner," he promised her. "Why don't we try that new restaurant down at the beach?"

She smiled into his eyes. "That sounds perfect. If anything is still bothering you, Chris, we should talk about it."

"We will."

Leaning forward, Rita placed a quick kiss on his lips. "Good," she murmured, noting that his return smile now reached his gorgeous blue eyes. She began nuzzling his neck, kissing the side of his throat. "By the way, I talked to Cap last night, and he said the case report would be factual, but slanted to look like we were working undercover at the time."

"Oh, really?" Chris arched his eyebrows. That was one less worry for now.

Her mouth glanced over his collar bone, teasing with quick, light kisses and a flash of her small pink tongue. She spoke without looking up, "You don't have a problem with that, do you?"

Chris tried to focus, "With what?"

"Undercover work, of course," she murmured. Rita's lips were moving over his chest now. He cleared his throat nervously. "No… uh… Rita? Shouldn't we get up and get dressed if we want dinner tonight."

Her mouth released a hardening nipple before traveling down to the flat planes of his stomach.

Clearly, she had no intention of responding.

He just closed his eyes and gave himself up to the joy of being alive.

**THE END**

_Grazie per aver letto!_

Thank you for reading!

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Classic Moments 1998

**There are two additional lengthy stories which had to be posted on the Silk Stalkings crossover page.**

_Partners Series Story 1: Unbreakable Bonds_

_Partners Series Story 2: Undeniable Truths_

Both stories are Classic Silk/X-files crossovers and were two of the most fun to write. My goal was romantic (C&R are already a couple) and funny with an interesting case thrown in.


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